


Lover, (un)binding

by MapleMooseMuffin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (check chapter summaries if you're concerned), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae AU, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Sheith Flower Exchange 2019, Witch AU, along with a creative mix of real world magick practices and made up fantasy magic rules, also mentions of a blood ritual (with very vague descriptions to the blood), but they think it is, combines some pagan folklore with some things I've made up, you know the trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:44:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleMooseMuffin/pseuds/MapleMooseMuffin
Summary: Keith is one of the last guardians of his little forest, tasked with protecting the villagers just south from darker fae who would aim to harm them.Shiro is a mysterious stranger who appears one crisp autumn morning in a forest clearing, with a full cottage and a garden that's bursting with dangerously sweet flowers.Keith needs to know what Shiro's hiding under his single black glove, and Shiro needs Keith to trust him.There are a few things Keith knows about this forest. Where its meadows and clearings lie. Where things belong and do not belong. Which berries to eat and which to avoid. The path to take to get to the little village full of unwitting humans and all their superstitions. He knows better than to step in a ring of mushrooms or leave his house without an iron dagger. And of course he knows not to give up his full name to strangers he meets on the path.





	1. Encounter in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tootsonnewts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/gifts).

> Hi Ashley! This Sheith Flowers Exchange piece is for you, and also, late. Sorry about that! Hopefully 30K+ of fae/witch au will make up for how long I've made you wait for this?
> 
> You mentioned an au where one of them was a witch and made a love potion from your flower picks that wound up going a little funny, and being a fantasy lover I thought that sounded really fun to play with! I also have been studying modern witchcraft lately, and the temptation to take the modern magick ritual practices of the craft and combine them with more fantastical magic elements was too great.  
(As I have dabbled very slightly in magick, I hope more experienced witches will not take offense to this!)
> 
> Ashley chose the following flowers and meanings, all of which I tried to incorporate into the magic of the story without making them the complete focus of the plot, as per her request. I hope I did well enough balancing the two!
> 
> Chrysanthemum, Red – I love | Jasmine, Indian – I attach myself to you | Ranunculus – You are radiant, I am dazzled by your charms
> 
> As a final note (sorry this is a long A/N): a Cu Sith is a mythical creature from Scottish folklore, often described as a massive green forest hound with a thick, braided tail. It was believed that these fae hounds would steal women from villages and drag them off to their fae masters. If you heard a Cu Sith's howl, you needed to get inside as fast as you could, because if you were still outside by the third howl, you would be taken (and/or die). I sort of play loosely with this myth here, so I wanted to give the context.
> 
> Please enjoy!~

The forest is alive with sounds, crickets chirruping and frogs croaking out into the calm night air. A soft breeze carries the sound through the open window of Shiro’s little cottage, along with the floral scents of the garden. Atlas turns to watch him as he enters, diligent at her windowsill perch, highlighted by the waxing moon outside. He smiles at the fluffy cat while Black weaves her way around his legs, purring.

They’re both worried about him. He can sense it in the weight of Atlas’s stare, in the clinginess that has taken over Black ever since they arrived the night before. He’s still weak from the move, and the energy it takes to maintain the glamour cast over them. He should rest, recover his strength, and take a moment to relish in their escape.

But the moon is waxing in Scorpio tonight. He can’t afford to miss this chance.

At the rate this curse is spreading, it might be his last.

The table has been cleared of the books he frantically searched the moment they touched down, and sits now with clear quartz crystals resting in each corner to cleanse out any lingering panicked energy. Shiro settles his freshly gathered flowers on the kitchen counter and retrieves his bundle of sage. Atlas comes down from the sill to inspect the flowers. He waits until she’s blinked her approval before lighting the sage.

“I could really use your help tonight,” he mumbles to the familiars. Atlas curls her tail over her paws, sitting up straight. Black mews and hops up onto the chair beside the table.

It takes a little of the tension out of his shoulders. He smiles and gives them his gratitude.

Walking around the kitchen, Shiro lets the smoke of the burning sage waft over the brick walls and the wooden surfaces. He runs his left hand through, and then takes the sage and runs it along his right arm, lingering over the spiderweb-esque marks that have crawled up as far as his elbow. To an undiscerning eye it would look like a strange amalgamation of tattoos. A lacey spiderweb overlayed by thorny vines and wilting jasmine buds. It’s the subtlety of it that feels so ominous, though. There is an artisanal craftsmanship to the way the poisonous magic is weaved into his skin.

The smoke from the sage curls away from his arm as though blown back. Shiro’s lips draw into a tight line.

“I don’t know what I expected, there,” he tells Black. She stares uneasily at the thorns. It feels like they’re cutting into his skin. “At least it wasn’t you,” he says softly. Her stare turns guilty but he shakes his head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Shiro runs the sage over the table in a clockwise motion, then settles the bundle in a small quartz dish and sets it to the left. He stares down at his right hand. The fingers are entirely black, lost beneath the magic ink staining his aura. He flexes them, curls his fingers inward to make a fist, then releases and lets them sag back open. They don’t feel different, exactly, but there’s a palpable distance now. Almost as though it wasn’t his hand at all.

He grimaces and tucks the arm behind himself. Best to avoid using it for this spell.

He turns back to the bundle of flowers he brought in from the garden. Atlas has already nosed through and chosen the best buds. She holds a sprig of jasmine in her teeth with three buds on the end just starting to bloom.

Shiro eyes the bigger flowers in the pile. “You sure?” The white cat flicks an ear and stretches her neck out to press the flowers against his palm. “Well alright then,” Shiro concedes and takes the sprig. Atlas purrs and bats at the fluffy red chrysanthemum she’s tugged from the pile as well.

Shiro takes the flowers and lays them out on the table, where Black lifts her head to sniff them over. He takes up the sage again and cleanses some more, running the purifying smoke over the buds to purify them. Black mews and waits expectantly until he washes her over as well.

One by one, he gathers his components from various kitchen cabinets. Atlas and Black are consulted on each item before it is settled in its place on the table and cleansed in smoke. Gradually, the light of the moon shifts across the table, until finally all of the crystals, flowers, oils, candles, and incense are lain out in a circle around the center of the table, where the moonlight forms a perfect half circle. Shiro sets a little glass bottle in the middle, on the line between light and dark.

“Alright,” he says to the familiars., “no time like the present.”

Shiro takes a deep breath in, focuses on it, and then breathes out, channeling all of his lingering guilt and worry. His aura shifts, parting the way for the negativity to billow out and cast away from him until he’s left lighter. Then it retracts, magic sparking gently up his skin, raising the hair on his arm and the back of his neck. The faintest glimmer of purple light dances off of him.

Black settles her front paws on the table and stares intently at the bottle in the center.

When Shiro speaks, his voice is deep and underlined by a faint echo, reverberating in the small space of the kitchen. “By the stars of Scorpio, in the waxing moon’s light, I draw upon the universe’s magic this night.”

He reaches out and clutches the short black candle resting to the left of the circle. He focuses on it, feeling the heat of his blood pulsing through his body with every beat of his heart. A slow breath in. The purple magic layered over his skin brightens. Heat rolls down his arm. He swipes his thumb over the candle’s wick, and in its wake a fire is born. Purple at first, then red and orange.

Shiro and Black stare deep into the flame. “Snared by spiders and barred by thorns, I bid this fire purge that which adorns—” With a huff, Shiro forces out a rush of air, and his aura follows it, glowing further and further from his skin until he’s surrounded by a foot and a half thick purple glow. “—my soul.”

The magic shifts and shimmers in the air like liquid glitter. Like reflected starlight.

He releases the black candle. With his index finger he draws a line of purple magic from the flame to the wick of the red candle sitting directly opposite the circle.

“Bind the flames and draw him near, the one whose love I must hold dear.”

As though a string connects the two, the flame of the black candle stretches up to meet the line of purple magic hovering in the air and spreads across it, dancing over the circle and through the moonlight until it reaches the wick of the red candle. Once the red candle is lit, the fire recedes and the magic line connecting them retracts back into each of the separate flames. Black’s paws begin to glow with a similar, though softer, violet.

At the south of the circle rests Shiro’s tiny cauldron. He takes up a piece of charcoal, bathes it in the smoke of the still burning sage, and clutches it in his palm. He closes his eyes and breathes in slow. Focuses his mind on his goal. Feels his blood tremble with the sensation, the intention. Then he settles the charcoal in the cauldron, where it bursts into a soft purple flame. Black’s aura stretches long and thin to circle around the cauldron as the fire dances.

Next, Shiro draws open the tiny satchel of incense he’d set out and takes a small pinch of the rich red powder. His voice rumbles deeper, more ethereal, when he chants, “Bold of heart, drawn in by this charm, bring me the man to undo the harm—” He sprinkles in the powder and watches it catch in the flame, sending the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon rolling up out of the cauldron.

Shiro lifts the collection of jasmine buds and presses a kiss to each one. The petals glimmer with a faint dusting of purple. Then he holds them out in the incense smoke spilling out of the flames. “—to my body.”

Each bud is pressed one by one into the bottle at the center of the circle. The smoke from the cauldron curls toward the bottle’s lip and begins to swirl around it.

He takes up the little bottle of jasmine oil next. “Soulmates, twin flames, crossed by the stars, the universe shall finally give forth what is ours.” With each word, another drop is added into the bottle, until the buds are floating. Their magic absorbs into the liquid and dyes it the softest lilac shade. The light of the moon catches and reflects in the oil, making it seem to glow.

Shiro sets aside the oil and takes hold of the rose quartz pillar at the north side of the circle. It begins to glow a radiant pink as soon as his aura makes contact, and Black’s lighter aura spreads out from the cauldron, running around the edge of the circle to illuminate the crystal’s base. Shiro dips his finger to touch her light, mixing their energies. He traces a line straight up the side of the pillar, dividing it perfectly in two. With a tap to the pointed tip, the quartz cleaves in half.

“Two halves of a whole, a mate to a mate,” Shiro says as he cleanses each half in the smoke of the cauldron. “Let this man be the one to unseal my fate—” He carefully eases each half into the bottle. Their tips peak out over the edge, and the swirling smoke traces them down into the bottle, forming a vibrant pink and purple cloud inside.

He takes the fluffy red chrysanthemum then and gently presses its petals to his forehead. “—and ease my mind.” The echo is softer when he speaks now, voice coming through weary and drained. Black’s aura glows brighter across the table as she mews her concern. Shiro offers her as much of a smile as he can muster.

When he draws the mum away from his forehead, his aura trails after it, caught up in the petals. The rest begins to thin, as though he’s pulling it all along with the red flower and pressing it down into the smoky bottle as well. He can feel his own exhaustion grow deeper and deeper with every centimeter away he pulls, until it is bone deep. The flower tops off the bottle, resting between the peeking tips of the quartz.

He takes up the jasmine oil again and holds it in the light of the moon. Hoarsely, he repeats, “By the stars of Scorpio, in the waxing moon’s light, I draw upon the universe’s magic this night.”

Something glimmers inside the oil bottle. A faint twinkle, like starlight.

Shiro fills the potion bottle the rest of the way with jasmine oil, watching it glimmer down through the smoke, which swirls around and shines like a nebula. Smoke stops pouring from the cauldron as the fire goes out, and the two candles burn bright purple. Black’s aura shifts to ring around the base of the potion bottle.

Shiro swirls it once, twice, three times counterclockwise through the half-circle of moonlight. The flowers and quartz shift about until they’ve broken down into their base magic, and the galaxy of smoke overtakes them.

For the last step, Shiro plucks a strand of white hair from his bangs and drops it in the bottle.

The smoke swirls faster, swallowing up the single hair. Shiro watches the whole mix turn crimson just before his world blacks out.

It’s early when the sunlight streaming through the window wakes Keith, but the breeze that rolls in through the open curtains is heavy with the bright scents of flowers and it puts him in a good mood despite himself. It’s not all that often the forest smells this airy and sweet. It takes him back to bright mornings spent playing in the garden with his parents.

Kosmo barks from the foot of the bed, the sound booming even from such a young pup. Keith laughs and gets up, knowing the massive hound has no qualms about jumping on people this early in the morning. Kosmo leaps up and down in excitement as Keith draws near. His massive tail quite literally whips back and forth, lashing the walls and the bedframe.

“Easy, boy. _Easy,_” Keith says firmly. “Sit down.” He keeps his arms up to protect his face until Kosmo finally settles down enough to sit in front of the door. Another booming bark echoes around the room.

“You’re gonna scare the shit out of the village, you know that?” Keith mutters and shakes his head. He can’t hold back his smile, though, even as he squeezes his way past the beast to crouch beside his tail. It’s not Kosmo’s fault the superstition exists, of course. The fae haven’t used cu sith to hunt down humans in decades – at least not in _this_ village. But old fears die hard, don’t they?

Keith wrestles the hound’s tail into place long enough to grab hold of the thick hair and begins to braid it. Kosmo whines, impatient, but Keith stays focused on the task at hand. For one thing, the braid cuts back on the whipping – Keith started doing it after one of Kosmo’s wayward wags left him scarred across the face. For another thing, the braid is easier to keep clean when they go out in the forest for their daily walks.

“The more time you give me to get this right, the less time we’re gonna be stuck brushing you out,” he says. Kosmo grumbles and shifts his tail, but he stays in place until Keith’s tied off the braid. The sound of him thumping his tail after Keith stands up is heavy and loud, but it’s more contained, at least.

As soon as the bedroom door is open, Kosmo bolts through the house. Keith laughs and jogs to the kitchen cabinet to grab a granola bar from the cabinet before he’s dragged out for the morning. The giant beast knows nothing of the concept of breakfast, of course, but it does take him a moment to fetch his collar. That buys Keith just enough time to shove some food in his mouth and hurry to the front door.

Kosmo presses the thick woven leather of his collar into Keith’s open hand and sits down, a perfect picture of obedience if they didn’t both know how thin his patience was. Keith barely has to stoop to fasten the collar around his neck – even sitting, Kosmo’s head comes up to his stomach.

Slowly, Keith traces the runes his parents engraved in the leather so long ago. He mumbles a few Galran words at each one and lets the red magic dance off his fingertips, into the collar. Once every rune is active he gives the final incantation. There’s a tremor in the air around Kosmo, a faint dusting of red glitter, and then it’s gone, like nothing happened. The great green hound blinks up at Keith for approval.

Keith takes a moment to check, closing his eyes and holding out his hand toward his loyal cu sith. He can sense the faintest of tickles against his skin.

“Alright, glamour’s up,” he tells him. Kosmo barks again. Keith snickers and shushes him.

The villagers may only see a giant shepherd if they look at Kosmo now, but nothing can hide that supernatural howl of his. The families must be shaking in their kitchens right now, the streets clear of anyone as they all rushed to get in before the third bark. Keith shakes his head at his troublesome friend and opens the front door.

Kosmo tears off into the forest.

Keith grabs the knife with the well wrapped handle from its resting place beside the door and delicately slides it into the sheath on his belt, careful not to touch the metal. Then he scoops up the little satchel of dried seeds and petals and slips it into his pocket just as his father taught him.

The forest is a magical place, but it holds its dangers. You can never be too careful in the proximity of fae – even those you trust.

For all his boundless energy, it isn’t that hard to catch up to Kosmo. The cu sith pup darts back and forth across their familiar path, shoving his curious nose under every leaf and pawing at his favorite trees. Keith finds him by a sturdy oak, munching at the dandelions growing among the roots. His ears perk as his master approaches and he beats his heavy braid against the trunk.

“You better hope some other animal didn’t pee on those,” Keith tells him. Kosmo snuffles and continues to graze.

A gentle breeze rolls through the branches overhead, drawing up a swishing backdrop to the other sounds of the forest. Birds call to one another as they go about maintaining their nests and looking for seeds and berries. A few crickets still creak somewhere, up late from the night before. They’re joined by the croaking of the frogs, audible even here despite the stream being a good fifteen minutes’ walk away. There are twig snaps as squirrels scale the branches above and the rustling of voles and other rodents foraging along the ground. Kosmo lifts up from his flowery snack and sniffs the air, ears perked in hopes of scenting a rabbit.

Instead, the scent carried in by the breeze is that same floral scent Keith noticed when he first woke up. He hadn’t thought it that odd at first – why take note of a planty smell when you lived in the forest? – but now he notices something peculiar about it. The scent isn’t like those in the garden that surround their little home. At least, not anymore. Try as he might, Keith never quite had the green thumb of his father, and the best he can work from the land are little honeysuckles and flowering bushes whose buds rarely open.

This scent, though. There is something like nostalgia laced in its soft sweetness. And something… alluring.

Kosmo pushes past him, nose in the air as he pads by. The thump of his tail against Keith’s leg brings him back to his senses. He hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out. Whatever that scent is, it lingers heavy on the air, thick and compelling in the same way as the smell of cooking breakfast in the next room. It’s powerful enough he could probably follow it back to the source if he tried. Kosmo is certainly trying.

Kosmo snuffles, nose held high as he starts to pick up his pace. After a few feet, Keith has to break into a jog to keep up with him as whatever this floral scent is compels the cu sith to take off running after it.

A twinge of dread cuts through Keith’s chest. If Kosmo went at full speed, there’d be no way he could keep up.

Before he can pick up any faster, Keith darts forward and grabs a hold of the thick collar around his neck. But the beast is much stronger than he is, and in a matter of moments Keith finds himself dragged along the strange scent trail.

They race through the forest, weaving between trees and jumping over roots. Keith knows this forest like the back of his hand, having lived here all his life. He and Kosmo patrol the forest every day – there are no fields of flowers this way. Yet the faster they go, the stronger the scent becomes. It starts to make Keith a little dizzy. His head spins with the lovely scent. The closer they come, the more it seems to fill him, making him feel lighter and lighter, near giddy.

Then Kosmo drags them around a bend, and suddenly Keith is washed over with the tingling sensation of passing through another person’s magic. He jolts back on reflex, one hand flying to the dagger on his belt, the other releasing Kosmo’s collar in surprise. The beast barrels forward while Keith staggers to a stop and tosses his head, sweeping his gaze frantically over their surroundings.

No immediate threat makes itself known. Instead of lurking figures or glimmering hints of a foreign fae slinking through the shadows, there are only familiar trees and roots and ferns weaving their way over an unfamiliar cobblestone path.

Though new, the cobblestone looks old. Well worn and grown over in some parts. Were it not for the distinct line at which it begins, Keith would almost wonder if he’d just never taken note of it on his walks. But the cut is too clean, unnatural, and there is something piecemeal about the way the familiar forest overlays with the strange path. Like a sloppily made bed, or freshly turned earth.

Keith follows the path back to its abrupt start. Immediately he’s hit with the same shuddering sensation of another’s magic itching across his skin, and it’s not the buzz of magic he’s come to expect from the friendlier fae of the forest. He steps back, tilts his head. Extends a hand and waits for the moment he feels it crawl over him again. It aligns perfectly with the start of the path.

“A glamour?”

Keith frowns at his hand and the thin barrier of magic he senses. There shouldn’t be anything in the forest that would have use for concealing magic like this. Nothing other than Kosmo. The fae of the forest wear glamours like it’s a fashion statement, sure, but their homes are already hidden away by nature. Keeping his hand outstretched, he takes a few steps to the side and feels how the magic continues in either direction like a wall.

Someone or something is trying to block off this section of the forest, or to hide their presence in it.

Unlucky for them then, that he was born so sensitive to magical auras. Keith tightens his grip on the wrapped knife’s hilt and closes his eyes. Taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the way it makes his head spin, he pours his focus into his hand and the magic lingering in the air around it. If he can just focus, he should be able to discern the source, and the nature of the caster—

The boom of Kosmo’s bark jolts him out of his trance.

“Fuck,” Keith hisses and turns back to the strange path Kosmo barreled down. If this is the work of a rogue fae Kosmo could be in serious danger, announcing his presence like that. Keith fully draws his dagger and takes off running down the path, deeper into the thick floral scents.

As he runs he sees strange patches of forest, where the ground seems to buckle into itself, like a puzzle piece jammed forcefully into the wrong slot. It’s disorienting, made worse by how quickly he’s trying to navigate this space. The ground raises up to trip him in places where he expects it to dip. Trees seem to bulge out at odd angles, looking almost like two different trees superimposed. And the farther he goes, the worse it gets. It almost feels like running through a fever dream, especially with that overwhelming scent filling his lungs with every breath.

If he had to guess, he’d say this land is magic scarred. But where magic this powerful came from is an unsettling mystery, and the pulsing of the intoxicating floral scent in his head isn’t doing anything to stave off his rising fears.

The spinning of his head gets worse the further he goes. Keith tightens his grip on the blade and ducks his head, staring down at the winding cobblestone path and shutting out the rest of the world. He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, feet pounding against the stones. The path takes a sudden turn to the right, and Keith follows it right into the rounded frame of a wooden gate.

The breath gets knocked out of him as he slams stomach first into the gate. He wheezes, losing grip on his knife as he buckles over the wood and then staggers back. Kosmo’s booming bark bursts from just behind the fence.

Coughing and still bent over, Keith presses his palms against his thighs and lifts his head to get a good look at the gate. It’s white, painted and quaint in front of the garden he sees just past the picket fence. Kosmo’s big green head almost blends in with the flowering bushes from where he stands inside.

Past the gate and the garden is a little stone cottage Keith has never seen before, despite the ivy crawling up its eastern wall and the fading paint on its front door. It swims a little in the haze of the floral scent still filling his head, but he can tell it’s a normal house in appearance; the sort that the villagers south of the forest build. The sort his father built for his family.

“This doesn’t look like a fae’s…” he mumbles.

Slowly he approaches the gate, keeping his steps as light as he can. Of course, if anyone were home, they’d surely have heard Kosmo already, but the fact that they haven’t come out yet makes Keith all the more cautious. Either they aren’t home, or they’re waiting for a reason.

There’s no lock on the gate. Unlatching it is a simple matter of reaching over the wood, and the metal doesn’t even sting his fingers. He frowns and slowly pushes it open. The hinges don’t creak.

There’s a rustle as Kosmo wags his tail, more than satisfied with himself and the trouble he’s led them both into. Keith scowls at him in warning of the lecture he’s going to get once they get back home. But he can’t entirely blame the cu sith for sniffing out something strange off in the forest. Even as the beast buries his nose so deep in a buttercup he jerks back with a startled sneeze.

The legends say adult cu sith are silent hunters. Kosmo, not so much.

Keith stoops to pick up his knife where it’s fallen inside the fenced-in garden. The longer he stands here among the flowers, the less his head spins, but the scent is still overwhelming. He feels warm all over, especially in his chest, and the way the buttercups shift in the gentle breeze almost seems to make them sparkle.

The metal of the blade’s handle peeks out from its wrappings. Keith hisses and drops the knife when his fingers brush the exposed iron.

There’s a rustle from the opposite side of the garden. Keith and Kosmo both jerk at the sound and watch as a little white face peeks out from under a bush. A cat. Kosmo lays his ears back and ducks his head, predatory, but the cat just flicks an ear and ducks back into her bush.

“Easy boy,” Keith commands, voice low. Kosmo whines softly and keeps his focus on the place where the cat disappeared. “_Easy_.”

Kosmo whimpers while the bush rustles again, and Keith creeps closer to him. Just before he can snag him by the collar, the cat darts out from under the bush with a sprig of something floral in her jaw. Kosmo bursts out after her.

“_Heel!_” Keith shouts, diving after his hound to no avail. The cat somehow manages to escape Kosmo’s snapping jaws and rips her way up the ivy, disappearing in an open window just as Keith tackles his companion. He wraps his arms lightly around the cu sith’s neck and chest for leverage, fingers curling around the collar, and drags him back from the side of the cottage as well as he can.

Kosmo chuffs and strains against him the entire way, but Keith manages to wrestle him back over to the buttercups. The fluffy flowers sway sweetly in the gentle breeze, so delicate and inviting. Keith can’t look away from the maze of those interweaving petals even as Kosmo struggles against his grip. He reaches out a hand to trace the flowers’ glistening edges with a finger, wincing at the sting of friction against the burn left by his blade, and barely notices as Kosmo ducks out from under his arm and starts snuffling around in the bushes behind him.

Keith traces the petals around and around, ghosting his finger over every single one until he’s made it to the very edge. The softest hint of red magic sparks around his fingers and leaves a lingering trail of red light tracing the edges of every petal. The flower opens wider for him as he goes, coaxed by his touch in a way that nearly makes him blush. It’s when his finger brushes the edge of the stalk that he realizes he’s been holding his breath.

“I take it you like them?”

Keith and Kosmo both jerk back and turn to face the man that’s sprung up beside them so suddenly it’s almost as though he just manifested into existence. Keith’s eyes dart from the man’s scarred nose to the abandoned knife still laying on the ground in front of the gate. He silently curses his mistake and steels himself for a fist fight, meeting the man’s eyes. They’re as grey as the moon on an overcast night.

“Who are you?” Keith asks. It comes out sharp, jumping onto his tongue before he has time to choose the words. Kosmo’s braided tail wraps around Keith’s leg as he dips his head, ears drawing back. Keith keeps his eyes locked on the man even as he settles his hand on the cu sith’s back in warning.

The man’s brows pinch together, though his friendly smile remains. “I think I should ask you as much, seeing as you’re trespassing in my garden.”

_‘Your garden is trespassing in my forest.’_ This time Keith catches the words before they hit his teeth. Whomever put up that glamour – likely this man – didn’t expect anyone to see through it. Keith knows better than to let loose personal information to a stranger in the forest.

He traces the fabric of his pouch of herbs and thinks for a moment of his father.

“We got lost in the forest,” he says. The man nods, though his eyes say he doesn’t believe it. They turn down to Kosmo, and Keith follows his gaze, eyes darting to the collar to be sure its runes are still glowing softly with his magic. The glamour is still active.

Kosmo flattens his ears back against his head and creeps a step forward. Keith jumps forward and grabs him by the collar before he can dart after something he’s smelled in the bushes.

“_Heel_,” he hisses. Kosmo whines.

The man steps back and half turns toward the place where Kosmo is glaring. “That’s quite the dog you’ve got there. What breed is he?” He steps away before Keith can answer and crouches down beside the bush.

“He’s... a leonberger,” Keith grunts. Kosmo strains against him and whines again, but Keith growls a warning and tugs him back. “_Stay._” His voice takes on a supernatural edge as he whispers the hushed Galran order. Kosmo breaks his stare and looks up at Keith with wide eyes, submitting instantly.

The man coaxes a black cat out from under the bush and scoops her up in his arms. She lifts herself higher, climbing up onto his shoulders and curling around the back of his neck where she rides contentedly as he steps back over to Keith.

“You certainly have a way with him,” he nods to Kosmo.

“I’ve never seen anyone train a cat like that,” Keith returns.

The man laughs, soft and melodious. It makes something in Keith’s chest shift and puts a warm tremble in his breath.

“I wouldn’t say I trained her.” The man raises a hand to scritch behind the cat’s ear. She purrs and nuzzles against him, brushing the tuft of white hair falling over his forehead.

Keith follows the motion of his hand as he drops it to his side. He wears one black glove on his right hand.

The man holds out the bare left in an offer to shake. “I’m Shiro.”

Keith eyes him for half a beat before taking his hand. It’s unnaturally warm to the touch, almost too alive to feel normal. Keith squeezes a little tighter to hide his surprise.

“Keith. And he’s Kosmo.”

Kosmo whines, eyes turning to the cat on Shiro’s shoulders. Shiro smiles and squeezes Keith back before letting go.

“This is Black. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Black?” Keith cocks a brow. “Is your other cat named White?”

Shiro raises his brows in surprise. “You’ve met the other one?” There’s something off about it, something Keith can’t quite place that makes him feel disingenuous.

Keith eyes him cautiously and answers slowly. “She was on the path. My dog chased her into your garden, and I chased after him.”

Once again, Shiro nods with eyes that seem almost amused. He doesn’t buy the story, but he doesn’t challenge it, either. Instead he asks, “Do you live nearby, then?”

Keith runs a finger over the pouch and nods. “In the village, just south. We like to take walks in the forest sometimes.”

Shiro nods. “I don’t blame you. It’s a nice forest.” He looks out over the fence and nods to the path Keith followed here. Kosmo whines again until Keith curls his fingers into the fur at the scruff of his neck in a soothing motion. His eyes never leave Shiro.

“Sorry to trouble you,” he gruffs out. Shiro shakes his head and raises a hand to pet Black.

“No, I’m sorry Atlas disturbed your walk.” His smile seems genuine, but there’s something too scrutinizing in his eyes.

“Atlas?” Keith asks.

“The other cat,” Shiro says. He nods to the house. “I’d like to make it up to you, if that’s alright.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“It’s no trouble.” He raises the gloved hand and settles it over his chest. “Really, I insist.” 

His eyes are too sharp, but it hits Keith then that if he just walks away from this, he’ll learn nothing. This man – if he is a man – is too much of a risk as it stands now. Whatever his intent is here in Keith’s forest, Keith needs to figure it out now.

“Guess I can’t say no,” he says. Kosmo turns to look at him as though questioning his decision.

Maybe he is. Sometimes Keith swears the beast is smarter than he lets on.

“Great,” Shiro says briskly. He bounces on his heels and steps back, gesturing to the house. “After you.”

Keith searches his face for a beat. His mind darts to the knife he left in the dirt, but it’s on the other side of Shiro now. There’s no way he can grab it without being noticed.

He takes a deep breath and nods, turning his back on Shiro and leading the way to the chipped front door. Kosmo pads right beside him, matching his pace perfectly and giving him a curious look. Keith runs his fingers through his scruff and tries to remember everything his father ever taught him.

_ Always carry your knife. _

_ Avoid strange circles of mushrooms or flowers. _

_ Always carry a pouch of herbs when you go out. _

Well, two out of three is better than nothing, at least. He shifts the pouch in his pocket and opens Shiro’s front door without any hesitation.

The inside of the cottage is rather anticlimactic. The entryway opens up to a living area on the right, where a loveseat sits facing a low table that’s covered in books, a few half open and most with velvet bookmarks peeking out between the pages. There are potted plants crowding every corner – not surprising, considering the burst of blooms in Shiro’s garden, but Keith has to wonder if the man doesn’t get tired of watering them all.

To the left is a little kitchen. On the counter lays a bundle of yet more plants, these ones freshly picked. Keith frowns when he sees they’re flowers. Can you really eat chrysanthemums? Or is Shiro just using the counter space as a workstation for some sort of floral arrangement? Couldn’t he use the table pressed up against the wall for that? It’s entirely bare.

Kosmo lifts his head and locks his gaze on the kitchen’s far wall. Keith follows the motion to see the same round window that Atlas darted through while Keith was wrestling his cu sith back. Atlas sits there on the ledge now, giving Kosmo a dirty look while she licks over a dainty paw.

“I’ll make some tea,” Shiro says from behind, shutting the door. Keith half turns and nods to him, eyes still on the cat.

Shiro manages to squeeze into the tight space of the kitchen despite the bulk of his shoulders, and Keith is distracted from the cat by the motion of it. He’d been so focused on Shiro’s face before, on the healed slash across the bridge of his nose and the cut of his steely eyes, as well as the oddity of his single gloved hand, which he doesn’t use now even as he fills the little kettle with tap water. Keith hadn’t really taken in the rest of his frame. But now, crowded in by cabinets and herbs and the black cat, who slinks off his strong shoulders to balance her way across the edge of the counter, Shiro’s build is striking.

Admittedly, Keith hasn’t met very many men. But Shiro is the largest man he’s ever seen.

There isn’t much room for Keith to navigate, let alone Kosmo. He presses himself up against Keith’s legs and huffs, cut off from the cats by the wooden table and Shiro.

“C’mon boy.” Keith coaxes him over to the table and takes a seat. Kosmo sags beside him and settles his massive head on his paws, pouting. Keith snorts and ruffles the fur on his head.

Shiro takes down a pair of delicate cups and their matching saucers and somehow finds room for them on the counter. He drums his fingers there, the gloved hand making a softer sound than the pad of his bare fingers while he watches the kettle sitting over the flame of the stove. Keith takes this opportunity to look around the cottage a bit more, seeking out some sign of why Shiro has come here, and how.

The window beside the loveseat is cracked open, and the heavy floral scents of the garden flow in leisurely. Keith’s mostly adjusted to the throb of that alluring fragrance now, though he can’t shake the way it makes him feel warm and light, like bubbles are rolling around between his ribs. It’s not unpleasant except that it’s so new and strange, and he doesn’t understand it. Perhaps Shiro’s garden is enchanted as well. But Keith sensed no glamour when he ran his fingers over the flowers outside. If there were that much magic at play, he ought to have felt it.

He takes a moment to focus. He breathes slowly through his nose and keys in on the pulse of magic that throbs through his veins. It’s normally a background noise, like the beat of his heart in his ears, but when he focuses he can sense it throughout his body. A warm, tingling energy that prickles under his skin.

Kosmo lifts his head. The faint red light of Keith’s aura rises up across his skin, shimmering until he wills it back down. It buzzes now on the back of his neck, raising the baby hairs there with a heightened awareness. Keith takes another deep breath and closes his eyes to focus on his other senses.

The kettle starts to whistle, the scent of steam the first thing to roll over him. He listens carefully to Shiro’s footsteps as he shuffles about, preparing their tea. There’s a splash of water, the echo of it filling delicate china cups and the soft click of metal when Shiro sets the kettle back on the stove. Keith tries to cast his awareness farther, but nothing else catches his attention.

He frowns. Considering the weight of the glamour outside, he’d expected to find something. Even the slightest trace of magic. The lack of clues here is almost more suspicious than if he’d found the trace of a spell.

There’s a soft click of glass, and then the shuffle of fabric against skin, and _there—_

Keith’s breath hisses through his teeth. He snaps his eyes open, but Shiro is faced away from him still, preparing the tea. The dark tang of sour magic in the air is so powerful Keith can taste it in the back of his throat. It’s an effort not to gag at the acrid scent of it, like seared flesh.

Keith’s heart races in his chest. Just what _is_ that dangerous sorcery, unlike anything he’s ever encountered? What is _Shiro_?

He stands silently from his chair and tugs at Kosmo. The cu sith whines, ears pressed flat against his head and braided tail between his legs. He must sense it too, the dark presence radiating suddenly off of Shiro. They need to get out of here.

Keith’s confident in his magic, but he knows when he’s outmatched. Without his knife, there’s little he can do against something so inhuman. Something reeking of such evil.

He takes a second to focus on his aura again while Shiro busies himself stirring milk and sugar into his tea. The clink of the spoon keeps Keith aware of how much time he has while he works on his spell, sinking his aura’s strength down to the bottom of his boots and spreading it out to encompass Kosmo’s paws as well.

The stealth spell covers the sound of their retreat as they creep toward the door. The clink of the spoon falls away just as Keith closes his hand around the doorknob, so he throws his focus out to sense where Shiro is, keying in on that horrible energy.

But.

It’s gone.

He turns around and nearly jumps when his eyes meet Shiro’s. He’s just standing by the table, facing Keith with a cup in each hand. Keith’s eyes flit to the glove. Why does he keep that hand covered?

“Are you okay, Keith?” Shiro’s tone is earnest, and when Keith looks he can see genuine confusion in his eyes, too. It’s not like the layered conversation they had outside.

Whatever that horrible magic was, it wasn’t anything like the glamour around the bend. That means the two didn’t come from the same source. They’d have had the same signature, the same energy. That dark, poisonous magic that filled the air just a few seconds ago was far too acrid to come from the same caster that put up the glamour outside, which means there are two sources. Two unknown casters lurking in Keith’s woods.

If he leaves now, he’ll miss the opportunity to gather information on just what it is he’s up against. And thinking about it, if Shiro had wanted to kill him, he could have done it already.

Whatever this man – or perhaps he is some kind of dark fae? – wants, he’s willing to play a long game to get it. Keith can use that.

But first, he needs his blade.

“I remembered I dropped something,” he says. He tries to keep his tone neutral, swallowing down the terror that dark aura sparked. It must be convincing, because Shiro nods and turns to settle the tea cups gently on the table. He doesn’t break eye contact, but he doesn’t seem too guarded either.

“Do you need help searching?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. Kosmo butts past him and pads over to the table to sniff at Shiro’s gloved fingers, like he’s completely forgotten about the magic that scared them both a minute ago. Keith’s quick to cut off his spell so Shiro won’t see the stretch of his aura as the hound pads away from him.

“I think I know where I left it,” he says to draw focus away from the little glimmer of the spell’s end. His eyes lock on Shiro’s right hand. That simple glove seems so ominous now.

“If you’re sure.” This time Shiro does sound skeptical. He probably doesn’t want to let Keith out of his sight.

Kosmo whines and starts to nibble at Shiro’s covered fingers.

“Ow, hey, stop that!” Shiro tugs his hand away and adjusts the glove where Kosmo had tugged it out of place.

Kosmo whines again and looks back at Keith with big, worried eyes. Keith squints at him, trying to guess what his hound wants to tell him. Kosmo thumps his tail once and whines again, snuffling at Shiro’s hand. Just like he does whenever Keith gets scraped or pricked in the forest.

“Kosmo, sit,” Keith orders. Kosmo whines and nudges Shiro’s hand again.

“Does he not like gloves or something?” Shiro asks, pulling his hand further away from the cu sith. Kosmo whines louder at that and shuffles closer to Shiro, staring up at him with big eyes. Keith wonders if the glamour hides the anxiety he sees in them, or if Kosmo looks just as worried and upset to Shiro.

Does he know that Keith and Kosmo have sensed his dark magic? Is that why he cut it off before it could take form?

At any rate, he has to figure that if Shiro’s acknowledging the glove, then it’s not out of the ordinary for Keith to ask about it. “He’s usually fine with them. Is there a reason you’re wearing just one glove?”

Shiro offers his bare hand for Kosmo to sniff, but he ignores him, starting to bounce up and whine louder. Keith gives him another order to sit but it’s ignored.

“It’s just a, uh, an injury of sorts. Nothing serious, but it’s better covered up.”

Keith knows that full fae do not lie, but that only tells him so much.

Shiro has to push Kosmo down to keep him from knocking him back into the table. Keith whistles, a sharp and shrill sound that’s a bit like the cry of a startled bird. Kosmo dips his head immediately.

“Come.”

Kosmo looks at him, then up at the glove, then back. Keith orders him again and pats his thigh, and finally Kosmo slinks back to Keith’s side. He presses up against his side for comfort and whines again.

“Whatever you did to your hand, he’s worried about you,” Keith says. Kosmo curls his tail between his legs and shivers when Keith runs a hand through his mane.

Keith narrows his eyes at the covered hand while soothing his hound. Maybe that glove is the source of Shiro’s dark magic? And Kosmo is trying to take it away? Keith can’t be certain about anything relating to that sort of sorcery – it takes so many forbidden forms that it’s impossible to anticipate. But if it is a source, that means it can be destroyed.

Shiro stares hard at Kosmo for a long moment. Long enough that Keith reaches back for the door again, ready to shuffle his companion out of harm’s way. He’s never heard of a fae hurting a cu sith, but then, who knows what Shiro is. Or what he would be willing to do.

“The cats worry too,” Shiro says. It comes out faint, like an afterthought or something he doesn’t even realize he’s saying out loud. His eyes are a little distant, almost looking past Kosmo to something that isn’t there. Keith checks the glamour collar again but it’s intact.

“You should… probably get that checked out,” he offers.

Shiro blinks and looks up. Then he smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck.

“I’ve been meaning to get it taken care of. It’s somewhat of a delicate situation, though.”

He doesn’t elaborate. Keith stares at him for a long beat, not sure what he’s supposed to say to that. Knowing what he knows gives the statement an ominous feeling, but Shiro doesn’t have any reason to realize Keith’s sensed either of the magics in the vicinity of his home. Appearance wise, Keith seems entirely human, and his aura has always been a stealthy thing.

“You were going out,” Shiro says.

“Right.”

Keith stares him down for another beat, but Shiro just watches him with soft eyes and a confused pinch to his brow. It would be a cute look if Keith knew something more about him than the fact that he turned up out of the blue in a hidden corner of the forest. Living behind a glamour with a swatch of dark magic cradling his hand.

Without an excuse to keep watching him, Keith slowly turns the knob and pushes open the door. Kosmo whines.

“He’s not going far,” Shiro coos at the cu sith. Keith doesn’t like the way that settles in his stomach like a threat.

Kosmo whines again and tugs on the hem of Keith’s pants as he steps out of the cottage, trying to tug him back in. As soon as he moves past the threshold he’s blinded by the midday sun, burning far too bright for all the clutter of trees overhead. Or, the clutter that would be there, if Shiro’s cottage wasn’t transposed over this part of the forest.

It’s jarring to be somewhere familiar and yet unknown.

Kosmo tugs again before letting go. Keith turns back to him and pats his thigh, but the hound shakes his head and flattens his ears. Sighing, Keith kneels and presses a hand on either side of the beast’s face.

“It’s okay,” he coos low. He lets his voice dip, just a little, the faintest magic dancing at his fingertips. It calms his hound ever so slightly to feel the brush of Keith’s aura against his, though not nearly as much as it would if Keith were free to cast a full blown spell.

Glancing past the green mane, Keith can see Shiro watching them closely from where he leans against the kitchen table. He lets the magic sizzle out, quick as it came. Kosmo snuffles against his arm.

“Separation anxiety,” Keith says.

Shiro nods. His eyes linger on Keith’s face, narrowed and clearly thinking. Keith stands quickly to escape the scrutiny and steps out into the garden.

He wants to run for his knife, but he reigns himself in, curling his left hand into a fist at his side. The further he steps away from Kosmo the more tense he feels. It doesn’t make sense why he’d want to stay inside with Shiro after that roll of poisonous magic, especially if Keith wasn’t there. Unless Shiro has somehow bewitched him. But Keith would have noticed something like that.

The knife lays unassuming in the path. Simple metal reflecting the sunlight. The unique curve of it would reveal to a discerning eye that it was hand forged, but Keith’s taken such dedicated care of it that its true age couldn’t be guessed.

The fabric he keeps wrapped around the hilt has slipped, which explains the lingering singe mark on his palm. His mother’s symbol peeks out from under the strips of fabric, embedded in an amethyst crystal inlay. Keith kneels beside the blade and carefully places one finger on the symbol, where he cannot be burned. He pinches at the wrap then and shifts it down the grip until he can cover it safely enough to pick the blade back up.

As he heads back to the cottage, the glimmer of the buttercups catches his eyes again. Their scent had been buried under the anxiety Shiro’s black magic drummed up in Keith’s chest, but out here in the open it returns at full force, luring him back in like a siren song. Before he can think about it, he finds himself in front of them, tracing his finger over the petals and watching the way they shift and glimmer in the light.

He knows he should head back in, should check on Kosmo and see what he can glean about the stranger in their forest. With his iron knife and his speed he could defend himself even if Shiro turned out to be a fae.

He knows, but it fades to an almost whisper under the sweetness of the flowers as the scent rolls into his lungs and through his mind.

“You’re really enraptured by those,” Shiro’s voice cuts through the haze of his mind. Keith jumps and it shakes just enough of the daze away for him to turn and meet the man’s eyes.

He doesn’t look angry, or even scrutinizing. There’s a curious arc to his handsome brow – and here beside the buttercups Keith realizes he really _is_ handsome. His jaw is strong and his eyes are like steel reflecting sunlight. Somehow he seems at home among these flowers, like a complimentary contrast.

“My pop was a florist,” rolls off Keith’s tongue. It’s more truth than he meant to let slip, but his jaw only clicks shut after the words have escaped.

Shiro cocks his head. He looks just as surprised at the words as Keith is. “Really? Are you inspecting my garden, then?” He crosses his arms over his chest and grins playfully down at him. “Not to brag, but I do take a lot of pride in my flowers.”

“The buttercups, or,” Keith gestures across the garden with the hand holding the knife. Now that he takes a moment to look out over it, he can see the large yard is bursting with a huge variety of plants. There are flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes opening up in the pre-noon sun alongside trees laden with fruit and a hundred different shades of greenery. The gentle breeze that’s been swirling the floral scents around Keith gently flutters all the leaves, creating a soft, soothing sort of white noise that almost makes Keith want to take a nap in a sun spot.

He hasn’t forgotten where he is, though. Now that he’s torn his eyes away from the buttercups it’s a little easier to remember the threat of danger Shiro and his garden pose.

“Ranunculus asiaticus,” Shiro says. Keith’s eyes snap back to him, expecting a spell. But there’s nothing. Shiro is just staring at his knife.

“That’s the proper name for them. The buttercups,” he continues. He turns back to Keith with a curious expression. “There are a lot of different kinds of buttercups – almost 500, actually. Most of them aren’t spiraled like these ones. I’m pretty sure most people just call these ranunculus, actually.”

He says that like it’s a lead up to some reveal. Keith lowers his knife and shifts his weight, adjusting his stance. His muscles coil like a spring, ready to snap in a split second.

“We always called them buttercups,” he offers. Shiro’s expression stays curious and assessing. “My mom liked them.”

“The way you came to them, I wondered if you’d never seen them before,” Shiro says.

“Never so many.”

His father would bring in one or two at a time, presented in mason jars filled with water and placed on the center of the table. He never grew them in their garden, though. Said they were too special.

That’s starting to make some sense, now.

“They attract a lot of good things,” Shiro says.

“Ladybugs?”

“And bees. Butterflies. Good things for the garden.”

Shiro leans forward and Keith tenses. But it’s a slow broadcasted motion, and as soon as he’s tensed against it he realizes Shiro’s reaching for the flowers. His steel eyes never leave Keith’s.

“I can give you one, if you want.” He traces a bare finger over the petals of a red one. “Since you seem so taken by them. Consider it a sign of good faith. Neighborly hospitality.”

“Shouldn’t I be giving you something, then. You’re the one who’s moved in.”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “What makes you say that?”

Shit. The glamour. A regular person wouldn’t know Shiro’s house wasn’t here yesterday.

Keith stares at him, mouth falling slack as he struggles to come up with something he can say that won’t be more suspicious.

There’s a flash of green in the corner of his eye. Then the world falls out from under his feet, spiraling until he’s flat on his back in the dirt with massive paws on his shoulders and hot, stinking breath in his face.

“Ow, fuck, Kosmo!”

Kosmo barks, nearly deafening Keith with the force of the sound. Distantly Keith thinks he hears Shiro curse, but it could very well be his imagination with the way his head is spinning. The cu sith drags his massive tongue across Keith’s face, coating him in slobber with one go. Keith sputters and coughs.

“Are you alright?” Shiro asks.

Keith grunts while Kosmo plasters his bangs with spit and terrible breath. He can barely breathe with the hound pressing him down into the earth. It takes a serious effort to wrap his leg around Kosmo’s side and push up from the ground, rolling them over so he has a chance to scramble out from under him.

Falling back on his haunches, Keith huffs and drags the sopping hair out of his eyes. His hand comes back muddy.

“Wow,” Shiro breathes. It might be unintentional, or it might just sound that way to Keith’s deafened ears. Keith looks up to see Shiro’s staring at him with raised brows, hands hovering outstretched in the air like he’d been moving to help.

“I can handle it,” Keith says.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Shiro answers. He’s a little breathless.

Kosmo’s braid thwacks into the nearby plants, ripping leaves up into the air and knocking over stalks. Keith stands and pats his thigh.

“Nuh-uh. Come here.” He points beside himself. Kosmo whines and scrambles up onto his paws, bounding the little distance and checking his shoulder against Keith’s ribs. Keith staggers and stumbles into Shiro.

“Shit.”

“Whoa.” Shiro steadies him with a hand on each shoulder. He’s so warm. The heat of him inches into Keith’s cheeks. “That’s some beast you’ve got.”

“He’s just a pup is all,” Keith answers over the stutter in his chest. He glares toward Kosmo, though it’s in equal parts at himself because this is no time to be feeling a buzzing in his veins. Especially not from the stranger wreathed in danger.

“A pup? But he’s huge,” Shiro says. Keith shrugs and tries to ignore how big Shiro’s hands are against his shoulders.

“It’s the breed. You uh. You can let go of me now.”

“Right.”

Shiro pulls his hands back like Keith’s skin burned him. With the heat that lingers as a lasting impression of his hands on Keith’s skin, Keith might believe that. He ducks his head and forces his attention onto his clothes, which are covered in muddy dinner plate-sized paw prints.

“You’ve got twigs in your hair,” Shiro says. Keith raises a muddy hand to find them before he can think about it. He winces when he realizes what he’s done.

“We’re both going to need a shower,” he grumbles at the beast. Kosmo whips him in the leg with his heavy braid.

“You can come in and wash up if you like,” Shiro says. Keith looks back up at him. Shiro smiles and gestures toward the cottage. “We don’t mind a little mud – it’s the price of giving the cats full reign of the garden. Besides, the tea’s going cold.”

Even as guarded as Keith is, washing off and having a cup of tea is extremely tempting. And if he’s invited deeper in the house, he can cast around for more traces of magic.

“Thanks.”

He nods and Shiro smiles before leading him back inside. Kosmo trots happily at Keith’s side all the way through the living and dining area into the tight hall beyond and crams himself in the tiny bathroom on the left when Shiro opens the door.

It seems the rest of the cottage is just as comically small compared to Shiro’s broad shoulders. Keith wondered if maybe there was someone else living here that could be the second source of magic, the glamour caster, but there’s barely enough room for Shiro, nevermind his two cats. Kosmo has to clamber into the porcelain bathtub just to make enough room for both Keith and Shiro to stand in the cramped space.

And yet, Shiro moves with an almost grace in the tight quarters. He bends to open the sink cabinet and draws out a washcloth without having to crouch down and holds it out to Keith, stepping back from the sink with the same motion that closes the cabinet again. When Keith takes the cloth and steps toward the sink, Shiro glides around past him without even brushing against him.

“I’m sorry I can’t do much for your clothes,” he says while Keith soaks the cloth in warm water and runs it over the worst of the mud on his skin. “I doubt anything of mine would fit, though.”

“It’s fine.” Keith rinses the cloth and dabs at the mud in his hair. Glancing in the mirror, he can see a few leaves tangled up in it as well. He picks each one out and settles it on the side of the counter. “It’s not like nature ever killed anyone.”

“I don’t know that that’s true,” Shiro says lowly. Keith glances over at him while his fingers work out a little thorn tangled just above his ear. “There’s a lot of danger in nature. But hopefully not in my garden.”

Shiro’s smile never touches his eyes.

Once Keith’s washed up they head back into the hall. He catches a brief glimpse of Shiro’s room when he opens the door opposite the bathroom to toss the dirty cloth in the laundry bin beside his dresser, but there’s nothing remarkable about the little bedroom as far as Keith can see. It’s small, like the rest of the cottage, and surprisingly tidy aside from the bursts of leaves flowing out of potted plants scattered about. Shiro closes the door and leads them back to the wooden table in the kitchen, where two cups of tea stand waiting.

The black cat is curled in a little ball on the couch. As soon as he spots her, Kosmo pads over to shove his massive nose into her side and snuffle. Keith clicks his tongue at the cu sith and pats his thigh, but Black doesn’t seem to mind the nosy intruder, and Kosmo ignores his master in favor of letting the cat press soft paws on either side of his face and lathe her tongue over his forehead.

“I guess they’re already friends,” Shiro laughs.

Keith hums an agreement and keeps his eyes on the two even as he sits down at the table. The quiet chink of Shiro’s cup as he sips his tea reminds Keith he ought to do the same.

The tea is a rosy color and tastes a little tart, but pleasantly so. Keith’s surprise must show on his face, because Shiro grins at him over his cup.

“Pomegranate. Interesting, right?”

Keith hums again and takes another sip. “I didn’t realize we had pomegranates in this region.” In truth, he’s never tasted something quite like this. But there’s a strange nostalgia to it. Like the flowers outside, though less powerful. Keith frowns down into his cup and gives it a little spin to watch the tea swirl.

“We don’t actually,” Shiro says briskly. Keith meets his eyes and watches him glance over to the clutter of plants on the kitchen counter. “I’ve always had a fascination with plants, so I’ve sort of… travelled around to see them, and collected different herbs as I’ve gone.”

There’s a little chip along the bottom edge of Keith’s cup. His finger catches on it as he traces the base and watches Shiro. Despite his size, sudden appearance, and the dark mystery of his gloved right hand, he seems almost unassuming. Just a man with a big garden and a pair of cats to keep him company. If Keith had met him in the village he might have found him endearing, even.

“Who watches the cats when you go?”

Shiro turns back to him. “Oh, they come along.”

Kosmo sneezes behind them. When Keith looks back over his shoulder, the massive hound is lapping his huge tongue over Black’s back, ‘grooming’ her. It looks more like he’s making a mess of her neat fur, but she purrs loud enough for Keith to hear it across the room and holds still under his ministrations. Keith lets out a puff of air.

“You’re lucky she puts up with that,” he calls. Kosmo pays him no mind.

“Have you had him long?” Shiro asks.

Keith turns back and raises his teacup. The longer he drinks, the sweeter the tea seems, like it’s an acquired taste. That hint of something familiar still dances on the back of his tongue.

“It feels like it’s been forever,” he says.

Shiro looks back at the two on the couch and nods. “I can understand that. I don’t remember what life was like before Black and Atlas came along.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t met before,” Keith says. He keeps his voice even, but he still catches the sharpness in Shiro’s eyes when they come back to him.

“You walk through these woods often, then?” Shiro asks.

“It’s good exercise,” Keith says. Shiro watches him like he’s waiting for more. Keith holds his gaze and takes another long drink, nearly emptying his cup.

“You said you’re from the village?” Shiro says at length. Keith nods. “Well, I don’t head down that way very often. With the garden, we grow most of what we need. But I will admit, it does get a bit lonely up here.”

He gives Keith an assessing look, eyes sweeping across his face and lingering too long to be casual. Keith tries to parse out where this is going. If Shiro’s going to suggest they spend more time together, then what is his goal? Does he see Keith as a threat? As a strange mortal who dug his way past the glamour outside to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong? Or as a threat to his territory? Maybe Shiro is a fae that’s come here to find a new territory to claim as his own. Maybe he thinks Keith’s making a bid for the same land.

In a way, he sort of is. This is _his_ forest, and he has every intention of defending it from intruders.

“I think I speak for both myself and Black when I say we wouldn’t mind having you back,” Shiro says. He nods past Keith to where Kosmo is still making a mess of the cat’s fur. “I have plenty of tea to share, and you could visit the flowers whenever you like.”

It’s Keith’s turn to scrutinize. He stares long and hard at Shiro’s face, the forced softness of his eyes that matches the too even tone he made his offer in. He’s thinking. Calculating. Maybe it’s a diplomatic move on his part, inviting what he thinks is a rival fae back into what he sees as his territory. Or maybe he’s still trying to parse just what Keith is.

Keith drains the last of his cup in a slow sip and considers his options. So long as Shiro is left guessing, they’re on even ground. It’ll be easier to work out what’s going on if Keith can come back whenever he likes, but it is riskier than lurking just outside the glamour.

Of course, Keith is nothing if not a risk taker.

“Sure, that sounds fun.” His cup clicks against the little saucer Shiro gave him. Shiro’s eyes follow the motion a little too closely, and then Keith remembers.

_Never eat or drink anything._

Right. Well, good thing the herb pouch Keith carries will protect the mortal side of him from that little bit of nasty magic. A little food and drink won’t trap him here.

“Thank you for the tea. I think we need to get going, though. It’s almost noon.” Keith holds Shiro’s gaze as he rises from the table, watching himself be watched. Shiro will be looking to see if he can leave the garden after accepting his hospitality.

When he does, Shiro will assume he’s a proper fae. That little illusion could give Keith the leverage he needs.

“We’ll come back and visit sometime this week, Mr. Shiro,” he says at the door. It takes a few whistles to get Kosmo to leave Black’s side and join Keith.

Shiro smiles and shakes his head. “Just Shiro, please. I look forward to your visit, Mr…?”

Keith grins. This one’s an obvious test. “Just Keith. Goodbye for now, then.”

He can feel Shiro’s eyes on the back of his head all down the stone path. It keeps him alert, but something about it buzzes warm in his veins. A little thrill of the chase, excitement at this new challenge put before him.

There are a few things Keith knows about this forest. Where its meadows and clearings lie. Where things belong and do not belong. Which berries to eat and which to avoid. The path to take to get to the little village full of unwitting humans and all their superstitions. He knows better than to step in a ring of mushrooms or leave his house without an iron dagger. And of course he knows not to give up his full name to strangers he meets on the path.

Most of all, Keith knows whose job it is to protect the forest and the village. If Shiro’s come to stir up trouble, then Keith’s going to get to the bottom of it.


	2. (im)mortal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a good time to mention that fae and fae adjacent creatures in this au age much differently than humans. I allude to it here and there, but I don't think it's explicitly stated. 
> 
> For narrative purposes this chapter wound up much shorter than the rest. I hope that doesn't disappoint!
> 
> Please enjoy!~

There is a legend in the southern village that starts some forty years ago.

It’s not that old for a legend, all things considered. But then there are those who say it isn’t a legend at all, but rather a true story.

The tale begins with a young man, bold and clever and without fear for the beasts and faeries that lurked in the woods that border the village. Rain or shine, no matter how many howls of the dreaded cu sith had echoed out into the foggy morning air, he stepped boldly outside to visit the town’s gardens and the farmer’s fields, and then moved north into the woods with a cheerful smile and an airy whistled tune.

There were rumors, of course. No mortal man would take to the dark shadows of that forest with such calm. And no matter the season nor the weather, his garden was always the brightest, alive with colors and rich green leaves even at the cusp of winter. It was fantastical. Miraculous. Just like magic.

Some said he was a changeling, a fae child swapped into mortal parents’ care during infancy and bound to return to the woods that made him. Others whispered the word ‘witch’ and cast their gaze about them, afraid he might somehow hear. Meanwhile their gardens grew, their crops yielded plentiful harvests, and everywhere the man went, the plants seemed to bloom a little bit brighter.

It’s a funny thing, superstition. From the day he learned to walk among the fields until the day he left for the woods, the village never suffered a shortage of food. But as soon as the words ‘green witch’ lingered behind him like a shadow, whispered on the wind by villagers who knew not what to make of that which they did not understand, he became a pariah. Mothers ushered their children to the other sides of the street when he strolled by, the farmers warned him away from their toil, and every house in the village shut their doors against him.

Still every day he strolled past the flowerboxes and kept the flora blooming. But each day he lingered a little longer in the forest, disappearing for hours, then evenings, then entire nights in the thick of those woods. Some thought he’d made a deal with the fae and couldn’t be away from his dark masters for long. Swore they’d caught a glimpse of him at the forest’s edge in the pale light of the waxing moon, accompanied by a creature too slender and graceful to be human. Others said he built a home there with his own two hands, so deep in the tangle of trees that none could find it.

He was a man of privacy and mystery, dangerous to the harmony of a small farming village so far out from neighboring towns. The longer he spent beneath the trees, the less the village spoke to him and the wider a berth he was given.

It wasn’t much longer before the Green Witch disappeared into the forest for good.

There is only one man in the village who knows what happened to the Green Witch after that. The oldest of the farmers saw him once, a few months later, on the night of the full moon in late October.

In the crisp chill of the autumn winds, he stepped out at the sound of something moving about the fields. With a pitchfork in one hand and a torch in the other, the farmer braced himself to be met with roving wolves or worse, but what he found was far beyond anything he’d imagined.

That night, the Green Witch stood at the far end of the fields beneath the silver light, hands spread out to the fields and shimmering with what must have been magic. His silhouette glowed in that mystical light, his head turned up to the moon with the widest smile man has ever worn reflecting the moonlight back up into the sky.

Behind him stood a woman, ethereal and inhuman. A fae, with a flower crown of ranunculus woven in her hair. A fae whose bare skin shimmered a vibrant purple in the moonlight.

A fae nursing a little baby, swaddled in magic with hair as black as his father’s.

That year, the village celebrated the greatest harvest they had ever seen.

When Keith and Kosmo go out into the forest for their daily walk the next day, the scent of ranunculus is still heavy on the air. Now that he’s had a day to adjust, the scent is less enchanting, but it still puts a bright and airy feeling between his ribs. He finds himself eager to return to Shiro’s garden and run his fingers over those soft petals. If he focuses he can almost feel the softness of them against his skin.

It’s only a momentary lapse of focus, but it’s enough to shake him when he catches himself.

There’s definitely something supernatural about that garden. Keith keeps one hand on Kosmo’s collar as they walk back toward Shiro’s cottage and thinks carefully about what he saw there. Even in this forest, alive as it is with faeries and fae and all sorts of natural magic, he’s never seen so many plants blooming at once. Not by themselves, at least.

In a way, it almost reminds him of the garden his father grew for them when Keith was little. A burst of flowers and fruits budding in harmony even when it wasn’t the season. His father spent every day out there, speaking with the plants and doing his daily rituals while Keith tottered around the flower beds and watched his mother trace her magic through the air. Between his father’s spells and his mother’s way with nature, the garden was always vibrant and full of life.

Shiro’s holds the same splendor, unnaturally brimming with nature. He can’t be using the same magics as Keith’s parents, though, or else Keith would have sensed it outright. It can’t be a direct or active spell, rolling over the plants and breathing life into wilted stalks in an instant. That sort of magic is energetic and fizzes against Keith’s skin when he passes by. No, the magic that makes Shiro’s garden must be something more latent. Manifestation, most likely, or perhaps a potion, though Keith isn’t at all experienced with that sort of magic to say. All he can tell is it must be a fertility charm of some kind that’s already seeped into the land.

That would mean Shiro brought his land with him when he showed up in the forest, though, which just opens the door to more questions – how did he get here? And why did he come?

If he were a local fae splitting off from his forest in search of new land, he’d know already that he isn’t welcome in Keith’s forest. Only a select few fae are allowed in these parts, and Keith’s just the latest of many generations that’s been defending the principles of the dwindling Marmora clan of fae who hold claim over this territory.

If Shiro means to challenge the Marmora clan, he is a fool.

Halfway through their trek, Kosmo’s ears perk at the soft sound of twinkling bells as it drifts on the breeze. Keith pauses, pulling his hound to a stop beside him, and looks into the trees just off the path they’ve been taking.

There’s a long beat of unnatural stillness. The birds fall quiet. The breeze fades away. But the tinkling of bells lingers, a faint and familiar chime.

Yellow eyes appear between the trees and blink once. A slow acknowledgement. Keith blinks back to the reclusive fae.

When his eyes open again, it’s gone, and the sounds of the forest have returned. The scent of ranunculus is stronger here. His heart flutters in his chest.

“Do you think they smell it too?” he asks Kosmo. Kosmo flicks an ear and tugs him forward to follow after the sweet scent again.

This time when they turn around the bend, Keith’s expecting the shiver of magic that crawls across his skin. The glamour protecting Shiro’s cottage holds fast, either deeply rooted or renewed daily. Keith has to dig his feet into the earth and tug to get Kosmo to slow down instead of barreling off down the path.

The hound whines and paws at the dirt, but Keith takes a deep breath and lets it reverberate in his chest when he orders in Galran, “_Stay_.” There’s a soft echo to it, the magic that carries his voice leaving a trail of itself behind as it goes. Kosmo is easily charmed by the power of fae magic and stills at once.

Taking another slow breath in through his nose, Keith turns back to the glamour, holding his hand out like he did the day before to pinpoint it. He straightens his spine and widens his stance, closing his eyes and focusing the way his mother taught him. The magic in the air itches his palm on the inhale and soothes down into a warm pulse on the exhale. He keys in on that heat, sharpening his focus. A bit of his aura rolls down his arm to swirl concentrated at the edges of his palm. He breathes in. Holds it. Exhales.

His aura laps against the glamour like flames licking up from a candle wick. The softest patter of energy rolling and bobbing against his palm. It coaxes the glamour toward him, just a breath. Just a hair. Just enough for him to catch a tiny piece of it, like pulling a grain of salt out of the ocean.

It takes a few minutes to draw out the lingering strands of the original caster’s aura. One by one, Keith shuts out his senses as his focus narrows down to the sharpening edge of his own magic. The red of his tightening aura flickers behind his eyelids as he opens his mind to it. He extends his reach as far as he can throughout the glamour, until something drifts into his peripherals.

Keith closes his fist around that sensation. The heat flares up into something searing and intense. It feels almost like it’s going to bubble up out of his hand, but he grits his teeth and pulls until that faded light is dragged further into sight. His nails bite into his palm, digging deeper the harder he pulls while the magical friction burns so harsh it’s as if his hand’s caught fire. He holds his breath, every muscle tensing, and _pulls_ as hard as he can.

The tension is drawn tight as a bow string.

And then it snaps.

Keith is knocked back on his ass by his own force when the glamour suddenly gives. He lands in the dirt with a soft, “_Oomph_,” clenched fist held out in front of him. Kosmo snuffles forward to sniff the glowing magic he’s caught, ears perked forward in eager curiosity.

Slowly, Keith uncurls his fingers to reveal the magic he’s tugged free from the spell. It glimmers against his own aura, a soft pulsing lavender that lingers for just a heartbeat, warm in a way that almost seems alive in its own right. Then it fades, slipping off into the air like steam rolling out of a fresh mug of tea.

“Human magic,” Keith murmurs. He frowns at his hand, where the magic glittered a beat before. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

If Shiro cast this, the magic would be humming with natural fae energy, like all of Keith’s mother’s spells and glamours did. Human magic is drawn up differently through the body – even the magic of half-fae like Keith is rolling with fae energy.

A fae lurking inside a human’s glamour. There’s no conventional explanation for something like that. No fae that has enthralled a human to do his bidding would need mortal magic to throw up a glamour, after all, and if he were trying to hide it would be best to use the stronger fae magic to hold his shield in place.

A friendship between humans and fae based on anything other than servitude is virtually unheard of. The only instance Keith even knows of is the bond between Marmora herself and the founder of the southern village.

And his parents, of course.

Perhaps Shiro is like Krolia, then, and has brought his human companion along with him to lurk in the Marmora forest. But then, are they seeking trouble, or asylum?

Odd as it is, Keith feels more on edge about this unmet human than he does about Shiro. Fae have weaknesses and rules. Things his father trained him for after they lost his mother to the last dark fae to threaten the Marmora clan. Humans, though. Humans are unpredictable.

But apprehension never held his father back, and it certainly isn’t going to stop Keith. If the problem is the unknown, then he’ll just have to find out who this second person is.

No use standing around here, at any rate.

“C’mon boy,” Keith mumbles and pats his thigh as he stands. Kosmo nudges his huge nose against his side and thumps his tail against a nearby tree. With a final glance over his shoulder, Keith heads back down the path, toward Shiro’s cottage.

Once he sees they’re moving again, Kosmo rushes forward with the same eagerness he shows when pursuing a rabbit through the bushes. It’s all Keith can do to keep up as his hound barrels onward after that sweet scent that makes both their bodies buzz with energy. As they tear down the path, Keith stumbling over jutting stones and clinging to Kosmo’s collar, he catches glimpses of yellow glinting from between the trees.

Whatever Shiro’s glamour is, it seems the other fae of the forest have seen through it as well. His human must not be a very strong caster.

Keith has to let go of Kosmo’s collar when they reach the little white gate into Shiro’s garden, as a second later the cu sith leaps over the fence in one bound and continues his single-minded rush toward the flowers. Keith hurries to unlatch the gate and let himself in before his hound can cause too much trouble in the fae’s garden and damn them to something he can’t so easily walk away from.

Kosmo takes two massive bounds toward the ranunculus, then skids to a stop in the middle of the path and snaps his head to the left. It gives Keith just enough time to catch up and grab a hold of his collar, holding his breath against the pervasive magic of those alluring blooms to try and maintain his focus. He bites into his lip to resist looking over at them and instead follows Kosmo’s gaze to see what’s split his faithful pet’s attention.

A few feet away, Shiro is kneeling beside a thick bushel of bright red flowers – chrysanthemums, Keith recognizes, like the ones he saw on Shiro’s kitchen counter the other day. They’re vibrant and fluffy, with hundreds of little petals rising up from the stalk. Beside Shiro is a small pile of weeds, which his sleek black cat is nosing through. Her eyes flit to them and lock with Kosmo’s. Then she lets out a soft mew.

Kosmo bolts toward her, dragging Keith along.

Black doesn’t flinch, and instead curls up with a purr to let the massive beast snuffle against her flank and lick her until all her fur stands on end. Keith tries to get him to stop, but it’s no use, and the cat doesn’t seem the least bit perturbed either way.

Shiro turns and smiles wide at him. “Hey Keith. You found your way back, I see.”

Keith nods to Kosmo and releases the breath he was holding. “Mostly I just followed him.”

Black reaches up to pin Kosmo’s head between her paws and holds him still for a grooming. Shiro laughs.

“These two became fast friends, huh?” He reaches out his right hand to gesture to the pair and the black of his glove all but blends in with the cat’s dark fur.

That same horrible, acrid scent rushes up to smother Keith’s senses. He chokes and staggers back, one hand flying up to cover his mouth and nose. The other drops back to the hilt of his knife. Kosmo jerks his head away from Black’s paws with a sudden whine and noses at Shiro’s hand.

It’s definitely rolling off Shiro, the dark energy that threatens to make Keith gag. He screws up his face and squints down at the man still kneeling beside his pile of weeds, looking entirely unassuming as he frowns at the anxious hound and extends his other, uncovered hand with a soft cooing sound. Keith can’t see any telltale auras or glimmering magic around Shiro’s hands, but the acrid energy is rolling off of his pitch black glove like heat out of the oven. Kosmo whimpers and pulls away from Shiro’s peace offering to nudge again at the glove. His big eyes turn up to Shiro and then over to Keith with clear concern.

“He’s a keen dog,” Shiro says. Keith coughs once and gives a curt nod without looking away from that hand. “I promise it doesn’t hurt much,” Shiro coos to Kosmo.

He holds up his gloved hand for Kosmo to sniff. Kosmo laps at it, weaving his giant tongue between his fingers with a single minded insistence, and that’s when Keith realizes.

It’s not a glove.

Shiro’s hand is bare. Black as pitch and radiating evil magic.

He _must_ think he has a glamour up – there’s no way he’d walk around with something like that uncovered. And thinking back, Keith’s positive Shiro was wearing a glove yesterday. They talked about it, even, and this suffocating presence of magic was muffled then, only slipping out for a brief moment when they were inside Shiro’s kitchen. In hindsight, Keith realizes Shiro must have taken the glove off for a moment then, while he was preparing the tea.

Yesterday he didn’t bother with a glamour, probably because he thought his other glamour would keep unexpected visitors away. But today he must have thought he’d need it, in case Keith came by.

A dark fae trying to hide his nature, with a human accomplice protecting his lair.

Just what does Shiro mean for this forest?

“Told you it wasn’t the glove,” Keith gruffs. He lowers his hand from his face, but it’s all he can do not to choke against that horrible presence. If Shiro thinks he’s glamoured, Keith can’t give himself away just yet, but it’s hard to hold a straight face. Especially when Shiro squints up at him like that, eyes critical as they sweep over his face.

“That you did,” he says at length.

“So what happened?” Keith tries to sound casual. Shiro turns his attention back to the hound as Kosmo nudges again at his hand. This time Black lifts up to nuzzle her face against her master’s hand as well and chirrups to him.

“Ah, well. Nothing they can fix, really.” Shiro pulls his hand back from the animals and tucks it around his stomach. “One of those injuries you can’t see until it’s too late. A disease.”

He sounds… resigned. But Keith isn’t used to talking with others enough to tell if it’s an act. Fae can’t lie, of course, but a half truth is fair game, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to call dark magic an illness. It certainly wreaths its tendrils around other creatures like a plague.

“Well.” Shiro clears his throat and rises to his feet. Then he turns toward Keith and gestures to the cottage with his left hand. “I take it you came over for tea?”

Keith eyes the pitch black hand, barely breathing in, and thinks of how cramped the cottage kitchen was. How intense the acrid smell of dark magic would be in such a tight space. At least out here in the open air there are other scents to contend with, to counter out the energy that’s making his heart pound in his throat.

“I was thinking, actually, you could show me around the garden. It’s…” he falters, casting around for a word and suppressing a cough at the same time. “Big.”

He gestures vaguely to the bushes and trees blooming around them. Shiro stares at him for a beat, one brow cocked, but like all fae he seems susceptible to the compliment, even as lame as it is. The tiny quirk of his smile is what gives him away.

It shouldn’t strike Keith as attractive. It really shouldn’t. But that’s in the nature of the fae, too, he supposes.

Not a day went by when his father didn’t speak of his mother’s beauty, after all.

“Sure,” Shiro cuts into his thoughts. “How about I bring us tea out here, and we can take a walk around. It looks like Kosmo would like to spend time with Black, anyway.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling low in his chest, and smiles down at the two who have gone back to grooming one another. Kosmo’s tail is still tucked between his legs, his ears laid back against his head, but Black seems to be trying to soothe him as she lathes her tongue over the wide expanse of his giant head.

“Sounds good,” Keith manages. Once Shiro’s disappeared back in the house, he finally takes in a deep breath.

As dizzying as it is, the ranunculus’s allure does manage to chase out the poisonous ache of Shiro’s dark magic.

Keith can’t help but walk himself back over to the flowers and trace his fingers around their now familiar petals, seeking some form of comfort from the soothing scent and glittering flowers. He does it almost on instinct, drawn in by his own nature without any thought or reason. They call to him. As he runs his fingers over the edge of each petal and watches the faint wisps of his own red magic flickering out to brush along them, it almost seems as though the petals are reaching back up and caressing him in the same way.

The hard lump of anxiety that settled in his chest when Shiro’s dark aura filled his space breaks apart. After a few traces around the soft petals’ edges, Keith barely even remembers where he is or why he was on edge in the first place.

It’s beautiful here. Bright and dazzling. All the plants around him seem to hum with energy, the harmonious breaths of the forest. His blood sings in his veins, alight with the natural magic that makes up half his lineage.

It’s like being home again. Years ago, when there was more life in his home. When his father’s garden was blooming and his mother’s enchanting songs filled the air. When the gentle scent of the vased flowers around the house made the place smell sweet and inviting.

He sees them when he closes his eyes, even now. Layers upon layers of overlapping rounded petals all spreading out and opening wide at the brush of his mother’s soft fingers. When she ran her fingers around the white rims, they soaked up her fae magic and were stained the most beautiful shades of purple all around the edge.

_Aren’t these buttercups the most enchanting flowers you’ve ever seen, Keith?_

Keith blinks and pulls himself back to the present and the ranunculus curling up into his touch. His father said they were special, and his mother loved them more than any flower in the entire forest. In his mind’s eye he can still see the eerie glow of the other forest fae’s eyes along the path, and the way Kosmo dragged them both to Shiro’s garden in the first place.

In the village there are all kinds of stories about how to ward off the fae. Things not to do so as to avoid their attention, rituals to follow to keep them from entering the home. Never once did Keith stop to consider that someone might have a way of _attracting_ the fair folk instead. But the way these blooms draw them all in, all it would take is a single bouquet to call forth the entire Marmora clan. If they aren’t here now, it’s only because they’re smarter than Keith and unwilling to step past the garden fence of another fae.

The Marmora fae may be fierce and formidable, but they are also on the decline. Hunted down by the darker fae of the world for interfering in the games they played with mortals. This forest is their last stronghold, the only place left to hide, lay in wait, and strike from the shadows, and even that hasn’t protected them completely.

Investigating the interloping garden is the kind of direct approach that only Keith would take. The rest of the clan are likely lurking among the trees further out from the draw of the garden’s scents. On guard and waiting.

But standing back and waiting until it was too late cost them more than one life the last time a dark stranger came to their territory. Keith isn’t going to make the same mistake.

Across the way, the cottage door opens and shuts as Shiro steps out, carefully balancing a pair of tea cups on delicate saucers. Instead of holing one in each hand, he has one balanced on the thick width of his left arm while his right hangs loose at his side.

He looks around for a moment before meeting eyes with Keith and smiling warmly. Even with the pair of cups it only takes him a moment to step down the path and meet him by the flowers, his movements graceful in a way that a man of his size rarely is. It’s strange; the grace Krolia held about her was enthralling, but always surrounded by an air of the supernatural. She was ethereal in her beauty. Kolivan, Antok, Regris – all of the Marmora clan fae Keith has met strike something inside him with their mere presence, alighting his nerves and raising the hairs on the back of his neck with the energy that naturally surrounds them. But Shiro is different. The way he moves is so subtle and natural, like a fish in water, seamless.

It could be because Shiro’s from a different clan, but Keith’s gut tells him there’s something else to it.

When Shiro stops in front of him and offers out the tea, nodding to the balanced cup for Keith to take his, Keith braces for the acrid black magic to roll over him again, But all that comes is the soothing pulse of ranunculus and the pleasantly tart plume of steam that rises up from the pomegranate tea.

Kosmo nudges up against Shiro’s limp hand and Keith notices the dark glove has returned.

“I figured you liked that one enough yesterday,” Shiro says and turns his hand to escape Kosmo’s insistent attention. Below, Black weaves her way around and between his legs and mews for attention.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Keith nods. There is maybe something ironic – or deeply dangerous – about accepting pomegranate from a fae, but it tastes too good to refuse, and Keith isn’t mortal enough for one cup to be a real risk.

Shiro sips his own tea and turns to pet Kosmo some more, but Keith can see the way he’s watching him from the corner of his eye. It’s sharp, analyzing. Like Shiro’s waiting for something to happen. Keith takes a pointed drink and holds his gaze.

“I never did give you one of these,” Shiro says after a long, silent moment of staring. He gestures to the flowers past Kosmo with the hand holding his teacup. “Yesterday I offered, since you seemed so taken by them. But then we were a bit,” he glances back to Kosmo and gives him a tender affectionate smile, “distracted.”

Kosmo sits down and paws at Shiro’s leg along with Black, who stretches up, begging to be held. Shiro laughs at the two of them. The deep, melodic sound of it draws Keith in almost as easily as the flowers they’re discussing.

Shiro is, in a word, inviting. It’s terribly disarming.

“I thought you were going to show me around,” Keith counters.

Shiro nods. “I will, if that’s what you want. No reason I can’t do both, though.”

But Keith knows better than to take something from a fae’s garden. He may not be trapped by a single cup of tea, but it doesn’t mean he can ignore the rules of favors and trade all together.

“I’d hate for you to pick one on my account. It’s better they grow here than die on my kitchen table, you know?”

Shiro nods slow, with that same sharp light in his eyes. Keith drinks again.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Shiro sighs.

“I am.”

“You really are a florist’s son, aren’t you?” He chuckles lightly and steps to the side, nodding for Keith to follow him back to the central path of the garden. “I’m honored you’ve taken such interest in my garden, then.”

Keith shrugs. “You’ve done a good job.”

“I’d like to think so.”

They walk around the grounds, pausing to admire the different blooms of flowers that Keith knows for a fact aren’t meant to be in season at the same time as one another. Some of Shiro’s cherry trees are in full pink bloom despite the gentle autumn breeze scattering their petals down over the both of them in a floral waterfall. Colorful tulips share their bed with thick summer sunflowers, and sparrows pick their way through a little cluster of blueberry and strawberry bushes not far from a grape vine.

“I didn’t think you could grow all these this late in the year,” Keith comments as casually as he can. He watches Shiro closely as he says it, only to be met with a look that’s just as sharp.

“You can grow anything if you know how,” Shiro says simply and tucks a sharp little smile into the corner of his mouth.

It’s a game of chicken, then. To see how long they can avoid acknowledging the other is a fae.

Keith isn’t going to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my dear friends Nina and Gabby for beta-ing these chapters, as well as Flair for the advice she offered on the magick elements of the piece. <3
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll cut the remaining 15K or so into two chapters, so I've bumped the chapter count just in case. Final edits are being done now.
> 
> Come and hang out with me on twitter, [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin)!


	3. Unveiling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. Sorry for the delay -- real life is insanely hectic at the moment. I edited this chapter whilst packing a suitcase, if that gives you an idea of how busy I am, hahaha. 
> 
> (Plus, as I complained on Twitter, Past Maple left a couple scenes half finished in this chapter, and Editing Maple had to actually finish writing them. Whoops.)  
There's about 5k left of this story after this chapter, so that should come out faster than this one. 
> 
> Please note! We do talk a little about a blood ritual and some mind magic in this chapter. It's extremely non-graphic, but if it's a concern, please check end notes for a mildly spoiler-y explanation of what to expect. I don't thiiiiink it's at all triggering, but then again your trigger may not be my trigger.
> 
> All that aside, please enjoy!~

In the month and a half he’s been visiting the garden, Keith has learned four things.

1.

Shiro tends to his entire garden manually, without magic.

Every day Keith finds him somewhere else among the vibrant plants, either kneeling to dig out weeds from a flower bed or standing with a pair of heavy sheers, trimming bushes to keep them from overreaching. He works with the softest smile and a vibrant light in his eyes, looking for all the world like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Keith convinces him to take their tea outside almost every day to avoid being caught in the tight confines of the cottage with Shiro’s dark magic, and Shiro is more than obliging. He often mentions how lucky they are that the weather has been so nice while they stroll among the flowers; the autumn rains have come mostly at night this year, and it’s always pleasantly cool by the time Keith makes his way to the garden. The forest is naturally cool of course, under the canopy of bright leaves that haven’t yet left their branches, but Shiro’s transplanted corner of land is wide open to the whims of the sun and would be hotter if not for the gentle breezes that favor them every day right around tea time.

Keith can’t help but wonder if there’s something supernatural about the weather they’ve been having. It seems too convenient, though it’s impossible to tell for sure. It could just as easily be in his head, drawn up by the natural paranoia that comes from dining daily with a fae.

2.

On the rare few days it does rain, Shiro likes to bury himself in his books.

The first time it rains, Keith takes a walk around the garden just in case Shiro is still out there somewhere, and instead catches a glimpse of him through the open cottage window. Four or five books are lain out over the little coffee table in the nook that passes for a living room with Shiro’s hulking form hunched over them, a finger tracing across the lines of text as he reads. He’s using his left hand, the right resting motionless in his lap. Beside him on either side lay Atlas and Black, curled up and dozing in the afternoon quiet.

Keith taps on the stone of the wall by way of knocking and Shiro starts, then gives him a sheepish look and invites him in.

In the short time it takes Keith to step around to the front door, Shiro’s hastily shuffled most of his books into a corner beside the couch and settled a potted houseplant on the top of the stack. He offers tea, seeming a bit frazzled, and Keith accepts as a way to keep Shiro busy while he subtly glances over the books he was caught up in minutes before. But none of the spines bear titles or iconography for Keith to catch at a glance. The single book that remains lain out on the table is a well worn copy of a gardening book that Keith’s father owned as well.

3.

Shiro never uses his right hand if he can avoid it.

After that second meeting the day Shiro gave him his first tour of the garden, Shiro’s always worn the dark glove over his blackened hand and leaves it hanging limp at his side more times than not. Kosmo whines and nudges at it each time they meet, but Shiro just strokes behind his ears and makes the same empty promises to the hound that it doesn’t hurt.

But even though he seems to prefer his left hand, he doesn’t seem to be left handed. Keith watches him quietly as he goes about his daily tasks, filling the watering can from the well and tending to the garden plants with a slow and deliberate precision that underlines a natural clumsiness. He is careful, too careful, in his movements, cautious and wary of slipping his grip. It takes Keith a while to notice it, but once he does he can’t shake the question as to why.

Does the blackened hand hurt to use? Is the magic constant and embedded somehow? Is it beyond Shiro’s control and at risk of corrupting anything it touches?

The only time Keith sees Shiro use his right hand is on those rainy days when they step inside and Shiro prepares their drinks at the cramped kitchen counter. It’s always as he stirs the tea, the china cups delicate and liable to shift at the press of his spoon if he didn’t hold them firmly in place. Even with his back turned to Keith it’s obvious when the glove comes off due to the retched scent of poisonous magic that lingers about his corrupted skin. It makes Keith’s stomach turn each time, but just as fast as it’s come, it fades away with the return of the glove, and Shiro lets that arm fall limp once more.

4.

Shiro is painfully, hopelessly attractive.

Shiro’s laughter is warm and deep, and most easily drawn forth by lame jokes and terrible word play. His eyes crinkle in the corners with his widest smiles, and the light that blooms behind them is like the full moon gleaming after the passing of a heavy cloud. His nose scrunches up under the stretch of taught, scarred skin across its bridge whenever he’s holding back a laugh, and his hand is always so warm when it falls heavy and inviting on Keith’s shoulder.

He doesn’t need a glamour to transform him into an ethereal beauty. He is unequivocally handsome in his own right and an expert at making Keith’s heart flutter in his chest. All it takes is a few words. A soft look. A tender touch.

If it were just his looks, Keith could manage, but Shiro’s beauty runs far deeper than that.

He is gentle with Kosmo, who thrashes his heavy braided tail about with glee each time they visit. They play together, fetching branches Kosmo’s dragged in from the forest path or running around the lush rows of bushes and flower beds in games of chase. Shiro takes easily to Kosmo’s excited leaping and just laughs, full bodied and earnest, whenever he’s knocked back in the dirt by the overly eager cu sith pup.

Shiro is also warm and welcoming to Keith, with soft eyes and a kind voice. He asks about his day and his interests, listening intently to everything Keith has to offer even if Keith’s responses are guarded and reserved. It could be that he’s trying to gather as much as he can about his opponent, but as sharp and attentive as his gaze is, his interest seems earnest.

In all fairness, Keith doesn’t interact much with strangers. But the way Shiro’s eyes shine when Keith shares tidbits about his father’s garden, or the constellations he noticed the night before, or even just Kosmo’s latest antics – even he can tell there’s something special about Shiro that goes beyond the average man in the village. Something not even the Marmora clan fae seem to have.

Shiro is soft spoken and peaceful in his demeanor, graceful in his movements, and adorable by nature. But no matter how comfortable a place he builds himself in Keith’s chest, his origins and his goals remain an enigma.

After a month and a half, Keith knows four things about Shiro, and nothing of his intentions.

At the very least, he hasn’t harassed the village. Keith goes down every few days – more often than he likes to normally, but it feels necessary with the new presence in their midst. Eavesdropping in the markets and dragging his feet as he walks Kosmo by the farms, he keeps an ear out for any gossip about odd goings on or unsettling phenomena. But there is no word about suddenly spoiling milk, nor malformed infants or restless livestock. Not even a miraculous surge in plant growth, the likes of which haven’t been experienced since his parents’ last moonlight trek past the fields. The most he hears being muttered under breaths at the market is the passing comment about the cu sith rumored to lurk in the forest. Kosmo pants happily as they go along, ignorant to the anxiety he causes among the superstitious on a weekly basis.

The longer Keith looks, the harder it becomes to find a good reason to mistrust Shiro beyond the mystery of his arrival, and the question of his yet-to-be-seen human companion. By the time the second month rolls around, all Keith has left to be wary of is that still rooted glamour on the edge of Shiro’s territory, its illusive human castor, and the maliciousness lurking beneath his single black glove.

The good fortune the weather has carried since Shiro’s sudden appearance in the forest eventually ends with a rolling thunderstorm. Keith wakes to the sound of heavy rainfall one morning mid-autumn and takes a moment to even realize it is the morning, as the thick blanket of clouds laying low on the horizon have all but blotted out the sun. Kosmo’s internal clock is far more acute, though, and he snuffles his head up under the comforter to shove against Keith’s chest and urge him out of bed for their walk.

Keith grunts and rolls over, scrubbing a hand down his face. He’s hardly a morning person, but something about the sound of heavy rainfall always makes him that much more tired. It’s too soothing with the gentle lulling patter of thick raindrops on wide leaves and the way the forest seems to settle down into a deeper state of being. It makes him want to curl back up under his blanket and sleep the day away.

Kosmo isn’t fazed. He lives for the ozone smell of wet earth and dripping leaves. He is part of the forest, after all, and rainy days like this are when the forest is the richest. Keith tries to shove his massive head off the bed, but Kosmo just hefts himself up onto the mattress and barks, heartstoppingly loud and right in Keith’s face.

“Holy shit, okay, okay!” Keith yelps. The beast clambers on top of him and starts licking his face. His tail, unbraided, whips all over the room and threatens to slice apart Keith’s sheets.

It’s a long and somewhat dangerous struggle to wrestle Kosmo off of the bed and tame his tail into something a little less lethal. Every time thunder rolls overhead he jumps up to his feet, ears perked and mouth hanging open in excitement. Keith can feel the energy rolling off of him in waves.

It is endearing, to see his pup so eager to get out in the mud and the wet leaves. The clean up afterward is less than fun, but making Kosmo happy is one of Keith’s highest priorities in life.

As soon as Keith’s finished securing the braid, Kosmo’s thwacking it against the walls. He scratches at the bedroom door hard enough to make it rattle and barks for Keith to open up so he can tear off through the living room. Taking a look outside at the thick sheets of rain pouring out of the sky, Keith decides it’s in his best interest to braid his own hair as well.

With Kosmo out of his space for a moment, Keith becomes more aware of the pressure he feels just behind his eyes. It’s almost like he’s getting sick, though he doesn’t feel any of the other symptoms. Just some strange ache in his head and a craving he can’t quite place.

Kosmo drops his rune collar in front of the door with a heavy sound and barks after Keith, impatient to be let out. Keith sighs, ties off his hair, and hurries out to cast the glamour before the cu sith breaks down the door and wanders freely on his own.

Within moments of stepping outside they’re both soaked through. Keith’s clothes cling hopelessly to his body, and all of Kosmo’s thick green hair drags off of him like the knitted strands of a mop. He pays that no mind, of course, happy to stomp about and leap across the path, crashing into bushes and splashing so hard in puddles he sprays mud up the entire leg of Keith’s pants.

The roll of thunder overhead fills the forest with energy. There’s a flash of lighting somewhere farther away, and Kosmo tilts back his head to howl into the storm. Keith bursts out laughing, suddenly feeling wild and free.

The magic of nature is all around them, alight in their veins and pounding through their pulse. Now that he’s left his cocoon of blankets he can feel its energy vibrating in him as well. Connecting them both to the forest they call home.

Keith wraps his arms around Kosmo’s giant neck and ruffles his fur, riling him up into a game. Kosmo huffs and jumps out, and Keith weaves just past his reach, patting his thighs.

“Oh yeah? You gonna get me?”

Kosmo barks and jumps for him again. Keith takes off down the path.

Kosmo is faster than him and they both know it, but it’s more fun to chase than to catch, so he lets Keith maintain a lead. It makes things more exciting for both of them, because Keith knows that at any second Kosmo could decide he’s ready to pounce. He has to cut a wild path through the forest, dodging branches and skirting close to spiny thickets, careful not to loose his footing in the slick mud as he relies on his agility to try and out maneuver the beast barreling after him.

As he’s darting around familiar trees and jumping exposed roots, Keith can’t help but feel like something is missing. He’s been patrolling these woods for decades, memorizing new bends and the way the forest is constantly changing with the cycle of seasons, but he can’t place his finger on what it is that’s throwing him off, aside from the soft ache in his head that craves _something_.

He squeezes through a narrow gap between two trees and stumbles into the most recent change he’s had to memorize.

The glamour around Shiro’s cottage path washes over Keith before he fully realizes it. He wasn’t planning on coming out this way – hadn’t even really thought about Shiro this morning – but his feet must have carried him down the now habitual path without his direction.

In the back of his mind he knows he should probably be more wary now, but another roll of thunder makes him throw back his head and laugh. Somehow, even though the sound of rain outside his bedroom lulls him into a deep state of relaxation, nothing makes him feel more alive than being out in the heart of that very same forest storm. Not even Shiro’s enchanting ranunculus, and no mysterious men or illusive humans can ruin that high for him.

Just as he’s thinking it might be fun to rope Shiro into their game of chase, that craving that’s been causing his strange headache takes a clear shape, and he realizes what’s missing. Every morning for the past two months, they’ve woken up to the wonderful scent of ranunculus flowers floating on the wind. But today the forest smells of wet earth, distant lightning, and vibrant trees and ferns. None of Shiro’s garden’s scents have carried far enough through the thick sheets of rain to make it to their side of the woods.

For half a beat, Keith wonders if Shiro and his cottage have disappeared, just as fast as they came.

Then Kosmo crashes into him, and Keith gets a face full of mud.

Squirming underneath the massive paws of his ill-mannered best friend, Keith sputters and coughs against the dirt threatening to fill his mouth. Kosmo lets loose a booming bark that echoes even through the pounding of the rain against the forest. Then he ducks his head to slather Keith in a mess of drool and horrible breath, pressing all of his strength down to keep Keith in place. 

By the time Keith manages to scramble out from under the beast, he’s coated in mud and muck. Still, he can’t help but laugh at his pup. Kosmo isn’t all that much better. His legs are half coated in thick dark mud that makes it look like he’s wearing brown boots, and the smears of mud on his head from his bending down to lick Keith look almost like a helmet. From the way Kosmo tilts his head and splats his braided tail in the mud, Keith guess he probably looks just as ridiculous.

Rolling around wrestling in the muck has managed to take the edge off both their explosive energies, though. Keith takes a moment to just sit and let the rain soak in. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back to wash as much of the mud off his face as he can and lets his mind wander. Or at least, he means for it to wander, but now that he’s remembered the flowers in Shiro’s garden, they’re all he can think about. It’s like a hunger in him. Once he’s noticed, it grips him and insists until he can’t keep still.

Kosmo helps him up out of the mud and trots along happily as Keith sets out down the familiar path to Shiro’s.

Keith sees the garden before he smells it. The torrents of rain weigh down everything in the forest, plastering his bangs to his face and making even Kosmo seem small with the way his fur clings to his body. Even the strongest of floral scents are lost beneath the waves. It isn’t until Keith’s unlatching the gate that he can make out the ranunculus scent he’s been craving. As soon as he does, though, it fills his chest with the same exhilarated excitement as the game of chase before. Even his headache melts away as he pushes past the gate and makes a b-line for the sweet flowers.

Just before he reaches them, he’s ripped from his single minded focus by the thin trace of something rotten in the air. A sickly lingering smell the hovers like smoke, making all the hairs on his arms stand up.

Kosmo whines beside him and points his muzzle toward Shiro’s cottage. Slowly, Keith reaches back to draw out his iron blade.

They creep quietly around the row of garden plants separating them from the main path. As Keith edges closer, Kosmo slinking behind him with his tail tucked between his legs, the scent gets harsher, and just a few steps from the side of the cottage he recognizes it as the dark energy that rolls off Shiro’s arm.

A shrill, agonized sound cuts the air.

Keith darts around the side of the cottage to the open window.

There’s a soft thudding sound inside as Keith presses himself against the wall, heart thundering in his chest. His mind races to catch up with his body while whoever made that horrible noise whimpers again.

The human magic of the glamour. The dark magic of Shiro’s arm. Two sources means two people, and Shiro’s kept whoever is with him hidden. The villagers to the south haven’t been tormented yet, but suddenly it clicks in Keith’s head that Shiro could’ve been entertaining himself with his personal human all this time.

If he’s got a thrall of some sort in there right now, Keith needs to get a better look at the situation and get them out of there.

His heart is practically vibrating in his chest as he slinks closer and peers around the edge of the window frame.

Inside, Shiro sits on the couch with his body hunched over the coffee table. His shoulders are tense and trembling and the soft whines are coming from _him_, not anyone else. Keith pokes his head as far around the corner as he dares and catches sight of the two cats leaning into their master’s lap and staring anxiously at his right arm. No one else is in the room.

Shiro lets out a wounded gasp and crumples tighter down into himself, and the sudden ache in Keith’s chest is strong enough to make him tighten his grip on the stone of the cottage. The sound is nearly inhuman, a horrible noise that makes his heart stutter in his chest. It takes everything in him to stay rooted where he is instead of running to Shiro’s side.

Then Shiro lifts up, and Keith has to choke back his own gasp.

It’s not just Shiro’s hand that’s jet black. It looks like he’s dipped his arm up to the elbow in a vat of tar. The entire lower half of his arm is corrupted to the point that it’s hardly recognizable, and the poisonous energy pouring out of it is unbearable.

Keith’s pulse hammers in his throat, his heart threatening to choke him. Adrenaline washes ice cold down his spine and leaves him trembling in its wake. This isn’t something Shiro’s chosen. The ragged sounds he makes are too raw, and the way he grips himself at the elbow is frightened. Black and Atlas each mew pitifully at him, seeming just as terrified as Shiro himself, and suddenly Keith is running.

Kosmo scrambles along behind him as Keith rips around the corner of the building and skids in the mud, nearly losing his balance as he rushes for the cottage door. Kosmo barks out a frightened and booming sound almost as loud as the thunder that rolls overhead a moment later, and then the two of them are stumbling into the chipping white door to Shiro’s home.

Keith throws open the door with a bang. The little spark of ozone in the air is just enough warning for him to jump back and block Kosmo before a vibrant purple flash of magic shoots off inches from his nose. It crashes into the stone of the doorframe and shatters the brick in a hot burst of dust and shards.

“Shit,” Keith spits out and whips his aura down to the palm of his free hand. The other grips Kosmo’s collar tight and holds him behind him.

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice waivers. He sounds breathless and panicked, but also startled. Keith takes one step past the door, pushing it all the way open as he goes, and sees him standing in front of the couch with violet magic pulsing in his dark hand.

Shiro’s eyes dart down to Keith’s hand and the faint gleam of razor sharp red magic around his fingers. Thunder rolls again behind them, louder, and Shiro flinches.

Keith’s body is at war with itself. The pulse in his ears and the ice in his blood tells him to run, to put as much space as possible between himself and the evil energy that fills the space between them. His lungs burn from it, almost as though the corruption is seeping into him as well. But his eyes catch on the tremble of Shiro’s shoulders and the fear still shining in his wide eyes, and all of his instincts urge him to push past the danger and rush to Shiro’s side.

In the end, as always, it’s Keith’s instincts that win out.

Keith lets go of the blade spell he’s holding in his hand and cautiously steps forward. Shiro takes one anxious step backward, but Keith holds himself low, shrinking down the way he does when they come across a wild animal in the forest, and slowly puts away his mother’s dagger as well. Then he waits, holding Shiro’s gaze and keeping perfectly still to show he means no danger.

Shiro drops his hand after a few beats of silent standoff and wraps it up in his shirt against his chest, as if to hide what Keith’s already seen. A flicker of his aura spreads out across the fabric in an attempted glamour, which of course Keith sees through, but something about it does muffle the choking dark energy writhing between them.

Taking that as a sign, Keith takes another slow step forward. Shiro lets him approach.

“You alright, Shiro?” Keith keeps his voice low and soft. This close he gets a better view of how hard Shiro’s trembling, but his chest rises and falls almost evenly, and his eyes are clear when they meet Keith’s.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Keith just barely catches it. “I wasn’t trying to attack you. I was…”

“Expecting someone else?” Keith finishes for him. Shiro hesitates a moment, then averts his eyes and nods.

With a gentle, broadcasted movement Keith reaches out and gently grips Shiro’s left arm. Thumbing over his pulse he can feel the little stutter as Shiro’s eyes dart back to meet his.

There’s a questioning light to them that feels like a stab to the gut.

It’s like he’s surprised that Keith hasn’t turned around and run away yet. Maybe it’s fair to expect fear from revealing something so corrupt, but stronger than any terror Keith feels in his heart is the ache to take away the pain and anxiety he sees in Shiro.

The cats each hop down from the couch and weave their way around Shiro’s legs. Kosmo too noses his way around Keith and butts his head against Shiro’s side with a whimper.

“What happened, Shiro?”

Shiro looks down at the crowd of concerned creatures pressing up against his legs, then hisses in pain and grips his arm tight through the shirt. As he grabs at his elbow Keith notices the finer details peeking out from under the fabric. When he saw it from the window he thought the corruption stopped at the elbow in a hard line. But there are wisps of it wrapping their way higher up his arm with jagged, thorn like spikes littering each tendril and a weave of snaring spiderwebs binding each thread together and drawing them tight like a cage.

“You were hexed,” Keith breathes. There’s too much meaning in the design, the lines too ritualistic. It’s a binding, hate fueled magic that Keith’s only ever heard of, but it’s unmistakable. Someone has woven their aura into Shiro’s flesh and set it to consume him.

Keith thinks of the human trace of magic in the glamour outside and the alluring ranunculus in the garden – an easy trap for an unsuspecting fae who let their guard down. Shiro’s been nothing but kind and welcoming, happiest in nature like any other carefree fae, and all this time Keith’s expected him to have an ulterior motive. But what if it isn’t him at all?

What if…

“You were hexed by a human.”

Keith looks up as he says it. Shiro’s eyes widen in surprise, mouth opening to speak but closing as he loses the words. Keith gives his good arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze and nods.

“You were, weren’t you? And that glamour outside isn’t yours.”

Shiro frowns and searches Keith. “No, it’s – so you did know about it? How did you see through…?” He trails off and stares, eyes wavering as he thinks. For a moment he looks down at Keith’s free hand, then back up.

Keith shrugs. “It’s something I’ve always been able to do.” It doesn’t matter how he knows. All that matters is helping Shiro break free from his bond. “Tell me what happened.”

“I…” Shiro’s words die out and leave him staring at Keith, somewhere between wonder and fear. Keith frowns and gently squeezes his arm again.

“I’m here, Shiro. You can talk to me.” He speaks in a tone more tender than any he’s ever used before, and as the words slip into the space between them it sinks in just how much Keith feels for the man in front of him. How much he wants to protect him from the person who hexed his arm, how much he wants to save him from his own corrupted skin.

He’s never felt this way before. But it isn’t frightening. Keith doesn’t think he’s ever felt something so intuitive and natural before, like this was some grand inevitability of the universe. Like this was always meant to be.

“We should sit,” Shiro sighs out. Keith follows him back to the couch and sits right beside him. His hand never leaves Shiro’s good arm.

Kosmo lays his massive head in Shiro’s lap and stares up at him with those huge, worried eyes. Atlas presses up against his other side, and then Black is draping herself across Shiro’s shoulders and grooming the short, fuzzy hairs of his undercut. Shiro ducks away from her with a soft chuckle, and for half a second the fear and anxiety in his face is washed away with a tender smile and warm eyes.

It’s gone again by the time Shiro turns back to answer Keith’s question, but Keith’s already memorized the look with plans to bring it back.

“I guess this is stating the obvious,” Shiro begins with a heavy tone, “but I’m a witch. Human too, but with some latent magic, like you. I’ve always been drawn to crystals, to nature, to the stars. And when I was a teenager I found some books on green magic and the fae, and I started to study.”

He stares down at his good hand, resting palm up in his lap beside Kosmo’s head. It makes him miss the startled look on Keith’s face when he calls himself a human. Keith’s spent his entire life around fae, and everything about Shiro spoke to something more than simple humanity. The way it feels like he can see through Keith in an instant, the way he was drawn to the forest and the garden. And his cottage – in order to transplant such a large piece of land into the forest like this, it would take an extreme amount of magic, and that’s _before_ the glamour was cast.

If Shiro is human then that explains why the glamour seemed like mortal magic, but so many new questions are rolling through Keith’s head.

Most importantly, “Who hexed you?”

Shiro sighs and his shoulders sag with it, making him almost seem to deflate. “Well, there was a famine in my village, brought on unnaturally by the darker fae in a neighboring forest. I know there are good fae, but ours were… monsters.”

There’s a darkness in his eyes and a steel cut to his words that Keith has never seen from him before. Reflexively, Keith squeezes Shiro’s arm. Shiro lifts his head to meet his eyes.

There’s a moment where the hatred lingers in Shiro’s eyes, and it chills Keith to the bone.

“I tried to support us. I charmed my garden, manifested healthy soil. Did rituals by the full moon to try and secure a large enough harvest to keep us going. But when everyone else’s crops die and your garden stays vibrant, no one trusts you. I tried to tell them I was growing it all for them, but they wouldn’t listen, and they refused to take food. They stopped speaking to us, and then they started shouting at us when we came by, and eventually I couldn’t even let Atlas or Black outside, or they’d be targeted too.”

“Why your cats?” Keith asks. He watches Atlas curl tighter against Shiro’s side, nuzzling up against his ribs. Black buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“They’re familiars,” Shiro says. The way he looks at Keith, a small hint of confusion peeking out under a critical glance, says he thought he’d have known that already. “They help me, lend me their magic and amplify mine when they can. If I hadn’t had Atlas and Black’s help, we wouldn’t have made it here.”

Shiro reaches over to scritch between Atlas’s ears and earns a loud, rumbling purr. Jealous, Kosmo licks at Shiro’s wrist and vies for attention.

Keith thinks back on his father, the Green Witch of the village. He can’t remember him ever having an animal companion, let alone two, with the exception perhaps of Kosmo. But Kosmo was always more so Keith and Krolia’s companion than his. An orphaned fae hound they rescued during one of their nature walks when Keith was young.

“Do all witches have familiars?” he asks softly.

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But anyone can, if they find the right companion.” He shifts his hand to scratch Kosmo right behind the ears. The heavy thump of Kosmo’s braided tail is almost as loud as the thumping of his back leg as he leans into Shiro’s touch, eyes drooping closed in pleasure.

A quiet falls between them, backdropped by the steady patter of rain outside and the occasional roll of thunder. With Shiro’s open window, the sound of the storm is loud, but it’s also comforting in a way. It makes the silence feel like a moment to gather themselves, rather than an edge of the seat precipice.

Still, Keith can’t help looking up every time a heavier leaf rattles in the wind. If Shiro is expecting someone to come after him, they could still be on their way. Keith’s not going to let him be taken off guard because he decided to open up about this. He’ll do whatever he can to protect him, no matter how powerful or dark his opponents are.

The thunder sounds much further away by the time Shiro speaks again. Keith’s attention snaps to him as soon as he draws breath to say, “There were witch hunts.”

It feels like stumbling down a flight of stairs, the way his stomach drops out. Keith looks up at Shiro with wide eyes and is met with a grimace and a small nod. He shudders at the thought, remembering all of his father’s most dire warnings about casting in the village outside the forest, and the desperation he sensed even as a child from his mother whenever they spoke of him going out on his own. Witch hunts bring out the absolute worst in humankind. They take the fear and the anxiety caused by the unknown and superstitions meant to keep children in line and ignite them with defensive anger and hatred, until the only relief a village can find is in killing that which frightens them so. It’s always a vicious, relished murder that breeds evil energies and draws dark magic in, luring the worst of creatures closer with its rancid stench.

Keith swallows hard against the nausea suddenly churning in his stomach. Wherever Shiro was before, he’s safe now, and people who burn witches would never use tracking magic to find one that got away.

There is the arm, though. Hex magic is always binding.

“Who cursed you?” Keith asks with a nod to the arm Shiro’s wrapped up tight, as though it were broken. “If they were afraid of magic, why would they do that?”

Shiro shakes his head. “The people who were afraid didn’t do this. It was the monsters that instilled that fear in the first place. The dark fae of our forest who caused the famine.

“I studied fae along with planetary magic and herbal magic. There isn’t much available to learn in human books, but I did pick up on the things you could use to protect yourself from them. Places not to go in the forest, warning signs that fae are near and superstitions that probably have a kernel of truth in them. The more I managed to scrounge up out of the few books I could find,” he gestures to the pile of books in the corner, “the more I started noticing in our woods. Strange stories the children would tell and the occasional disappearance of a young maiden from town now and again started to make more sense, and I realized the fae of our forest were preying on us. Using us for entertainment.”

That dark look rolls over Shiro once more. Keith watches him slip back into some memory that tenses his shoulders and has him gritting his teeth. He doesn’t know who could have put such a deep hatred in Shiro’s heart, but Keith knows he hates them with all of his being. If they came through that front door right now, he’d be on his feet and swinging his blade in an instant.

Shiro draws a deep, slow breath and straightens up, turning back to Keith. The hard lines of his face stay sharp, but the heat of his glare cools into solid steel as he meets Keith’s eyes. His lips quirk up in a bitter little smirk.

“They didn’t like it when suddenly half the village started carrying iron daggers every where they went.”

Keith raises his brows. “You convinced the villagers the fae were after them?”

“Well, that was before I started casting in public. Before the famine. I showed them what I’d read and how it lined up with the things we’d been dealing with, and they were eager to know what they could do to stop it.” He chuckles, something rueful. “You know, I was once quite popular in the village. Before they came after me for being a witch, that is.”

Keith can’t help the little smile that draws up out of him, despite the situation. “Yeah, I can imagine,” he says softly. Shiro’s handsome and welcoming, friendly in a way that is comforting and naturally soothing. It’s harder to imagine someone disliking him than believing he was the golden child of the village.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks. His tone is light, borderline playful, and the way he cocks a brow at Keith makes his stomach flip. He can feel his blood rushing into his face.

“I just— I mean, well it’s not like it’s surprising. The way you are.” Keith forces a cough and tries to look away, but his eyes just drift right back to Shiro a second later. It’s like he’s magnetized and Keith is just a helpless shard of metal.

“The way I am?” Shiro asks, softer this time. His eyes soften too, and suddenly the tone of the room shifts into something soft and tender. The rain falls away, the rest of the cottage nonexistent compared to the warmth blooming here between them. The gentle light in Shiro’s eyes, the soft brush of his hand as he reaches across to settle it over the back of Keith’s. They both hesitate then, breaths caught in their lungs and eyes locked.

Keith’s suddenly aware of how dry his lips are. Of how much mud must be between his fingers, and on his clothes. He’s sitting here sopping wet on Shiro’s little couch and staring at him with what must be a ridiculous doe eyed expression. But Shiro doesn’t seem put out by it at all. If anything, it feels like he’s inching closer.

Now Keith’s the magnet, and Shiro the sleek piece of silver being drawn in.

“Keith, I…” Shiro starts so softly, but the sound of Keith’s name on his breath like that still makes his heart rocket to his throat. His pulse pounds so hard he can feel it choking him. Shiro can probably see it throbbing in his veins. Or he would, if he’d look anywhere other than Keith’s eyes.

Keith swallows twice before he manages to say, “What is it, Shiro?”

But it must be the wrong thing to say. Shiro blinks, just once, and all the softness of his gaze fades off as some realization slips into place.

“I, I’m sorry,” he says, brisk and earnest. His hand draws back from Keith’s and he sits up straight, far enough away that they aren’t even slightly touching.

Keith frowns and opens his mouth to ask, “What?”, but even as it brushes his lips he realizes there is a boundary there between them, and Shiro’s elected to keep it in place.

Keith’s heart sinks deep in his chest. Mournful at the loss of something he didn’t quite get to have in the first place.

This time the quiet between them feels strained as the rain rattles the leaves outside and thunder rolls somewhere farther away. The magnetism is lost, or even inverted, because Keith can’t bring himself to meet Shiro’s eyes the same way anymore. They both sit stiffly, close and yet suddenly so very far apart, as Keith plays with his hands and Shiro puts too much focus into petting his familiars. Eventually, after what feels like hours, Shiro clears his throat and continues his story.

“So, uh, yeah. I told everyone what was going on. But after the villagers started defending themselves, well. The fae didn’t take very kindly to that.”

Keith nods. “Fae are vain.” In most cases, anyway.

“Well, we certainly learned that the hard way.” Shiro huffs a soft, bitter laugh. “It didn’t take them long to figure out who had told everyone how to fend them off.”

“And then they came for you.”

“And then they came for me. One of the most dangerous of their clan, a woman called Haggar.” He spits the name out like bile. “She’s the one who caused our famine. Her and her druids cursed our farmlands – I saw them that night. Standing out on the edge of the village, with thick, black energy seeping from their hands and shooting through the rows of seeds like poison in the veins. They leeched the life from every sapling and sprout until the fields were nothing but ashen husks.

“That’s why I started manifesting in my own garden. I put up defenses and cast charms to keep the soil safe. Black and Atlas would take turns patrolling around the fence, weaving their own magic into the pickets to help create a ward. We grew all the warding plants just outside the fence too, to keep them away. But we could only do so much. The three of us alone weren’t strong enough to keep them out of the village at large.”

Keith turns to look at Shiro again. His eyes are narrow and shine with a seething hatred that makes Keith shiver, looking out over the coffee table and seeing something that isn’t there. His body has coiled into one hard, tight muscle, and suddenly the size of him implies more danger than Keith has ever considered. Shiro must have the strength in him to seriously hurt someone if he tried. With that dark look in his eye, Keith has to wonder if he’s thought of tearing into Haggar with just his bare hands.

It’s hard to kill a fae without some sort of magic. But with the way Shiro glares at what must be his mind’s image of that woman, Keith thinks maybe he could do it, if he tried.

“I thought maybe,” Shiro continues, in a darker, more gravly tone, “that the villagers being prepared to fight them off would be enough to keep them from coming into the main streets, but I didn’t account for glamours. They came into the village disguised as our people and started spreading rumors about me and my familiars. Sowing in seeds of anxiety and unrest. Atlas sensed dark magic being cast over us in the night. Our wards protected us, but not the rest of the village. After a few months, everyone was terrified of us, and then that boiled over into hate.”

Keith isn’t quite convinced. With all his parents’ warnings, and the stories the Marmora fae told him of things they’d seen in their time, he knows well that a village can turn just as vicious without the help of dark magic. Humans are paranoid, fearful creatures, and despite being predators they will lash out like deranged prey animals when they feel threatened. He doesn’t doubt Shiro’s village was plagued by evil fae. But humans don’t need a fae’s corruption to draw out their own evil nature.

“How do you know?” he asks cautiously. He doesn’t want Shiro’s anger at his past tormentors to suddenly be turned on him. Especially not when Shiro is sitting between him and the door – the easiest way out if Shiro were to become enraged.

It’s just Keith’s own kind of paranoia, a consequence of being raised in hiding and having lost two parents to the threats of the forest. But it’s kept him alive this long.

Shiro doesn’t lash at him, though. Instead, he laughs. The sound is hollow, like bones clattering to the ground, and it chills Keith’s blood.

“She told me.” Shiro tightens his grip on his arm and stares at the same space above the coffee table, eyes burning at some memory Keith can’t see. “I guess she figured she couldn’t take me head on. A witch who was wise to the ways of the fae probably posed a bigger challenge than the average villager. So she used more underhanded tactics. Glamoured herself to hide her presence and snatched me from the street one night when I stepped just an inch too far from my wards.”

Keith straightens, leans forward and stares at Shiro with wide eyes, breath pulling fast into his lungs. “She took you?”

“Spirited away.” And just like that, the fire dies from Shiro’s eyes. He seems to sink into himself, voice empty, tone flat. “Time moves differently in the fae realms. Weeks can feel like just one night, and just one night can feel like an eternity. She didn’t need me for long in terms of real time. But she made it feel like a _year_.”

It’s hard to breathe through the weight of that revelation. Keith wants to apologize, to somehow make up for something so horrible done to Shiro by a creature that technically shares his race, even though he had nothing to do with it. He always knew that evil fae would toy with humans, but Shiro is the first time he’s seen it with his own eyes, seen what it is the humans have to fear. It makes him feel cold all over.

And then it makes his blood boil with rage.

Keith curls his hands into fists in his lap, so tight his nails burn where they dig into his palms. He has to grit his teeth and take a few slow, deliberate breaths before he can speak in a calm enough tone so as not to completely frighten Shiro off.

“What did she do to you?” he grits out.

Shiro shifts his gaze to look sideways at him. There’s a glimmer of surprise there, but it settles faster than Keith would have expected. Somehow, Shiro almost looks appreciative in the quiet beat that follows.

“I don’t remember, honestly. Not everything. Just that it never seemed to end. She cast magics on me, messed with my head. Made me hallucinate things, made me remember things that weren’t real or forget things I’d known. I fought her for months – hours, casting wards on myself to try and keep her at bay, but there was only so much I could do. And then she… She did something to me. To my arm.”

They both look down at the arm Shiro still has wrapped tight in his shirt, held close to his chest.

“She hexed you,” Keith says.

“No.” Shiro shakes his head. “That was later – as we were trying to leave. This was… Some kind of ritual, maybe. She said something about using me, making me her link to the humans. She called me a champion of the people.” He spits that word out just as viciously as he spat Haggar’s name. “Then she drew a knife, and forced me to trade blood with another of her clan.”

“You have fae blood,” Keith breathes.

It makes sense, then. The unexplained feeling of something more, something supernatural, that Keith’s had ever since he met Shiro. The power of his magic, too strong to be purely mortal. His ease in nature, his strange grace. Never quite fae, never quite human, Shiro has been just a little of both all this time. Almost like Keith.

“It wasn’t a lot.” Shiro’s eyes clear up a bit, and Keith can tell he’s back with him in the present, seeing him instead of the images of his memories. “In order to do that spell she had to take her focus off me, and I used that moment to overpower Sendak – the other fae – and get the fuck out of there. When I made it back here – or, the cottage anyway – Black and Atlas were surprised by how panicked I seemed, and the new scar and my hair.” He gestures vaguely to each. “That’s when we realized I’d only been gone for a few hours.”

“That was the night you came here, then,” Keith guesses. He certainly wouldn’t have stuck around after going through something like that.

Shiro nods but says, “There’s more to it. She wasn’t just going to let me get away. So she came after us, and stirred up chaos in the village as she came. I guess she figured if she couldn’t make me what she wanted, she could let the mobs tear us apart.”

“It’s done in hundreds of witches before,” Keith says gravely.

“It almost got us.”

Keith tries to imagine the horror of it. Shiro barring the little cottage door with his coffee table and kitchen chairs. The light of torches brightening the night sky enough to make it seem almost like sunrise beyond the circular windows. Shiro, Atlas, and Black backed in the bedroom, crouching amid the clutter of house plants and digging rapidly through all of Shiro’s books in search of a way out while the angry shouts and demands of villagers who know nothing of what they want or what they’re afraid of rise up beyond the wall like some twisted roar of flames.

It’s terrifying.

Gently he reaches over and squeezes Shiro’s hand. When Shiro allows it, he runs his thumb across Shiro’s knuckles in a soothing manner. It feels good to touch and feel that solid reminder that Shiro is here and okay, sans the hex across his right arm. Living proof that they got away once, and that Keith can protect him if his enemies found their way back.

“How did you get away?” he asks quietly. Shiro nods to the cats curled around him.

“We found a ritual to teleport out of there. Took as much of the garden and the land we’d warded as we could. But Black and Atlas had to drop the ward they’d been keeping up around the fence and lend me their magic instead to pull it off. The spell took half an hour of us pouring our energy into that ritual to finish.”

Keith lets out a low whistle, eyes wide. He’s never seen a spell that takes so much energy before. “Something like that could kill a person,” he breathes. “Even with a little fae blood.”

Shiro gives him a grim nod.

“I know. Like I said, if it weren’t for these two, we wouldn’t have made it.”

The weight of that hangs heavy between them. Kosmo whines and nuzzles up against Shiro’s leg, as though he can sense it too. Not for the first time, Keith wonders if Kosmo understands more than he lets on.

Shiro’s story explains why he showed up so suddenly, his land woven into the forest like it had always been there. The glamour thrown up around the area has new context as well. It wasn’t that he was trying to hide from the fae of _this_ forest. He didn’t want to be tracked down by the dark fae that had tormented him and chased him out of his hometown in the first place. And after dealing with such dangerous fair folk, it makes sense that he was so guarded and careful when he first met Keith as well. Thinking back on it now, Keith starts to notice all the signs he’d missed. Shiro never gave him his full name. He kept hiding his arm and never wanted Keith to see the hex because it was caused by another fae. He offered him food and flowers, and invited him into his garden – all peace offerings one can make to fae to earn their favor. And when Keith took kindly to those, he tried to keep him around.

As a Green Witch, Shiro would know that not all fae are dangerous. That some are forces of protection, rather than destruction. _They attract a lot of good things_, he’d said about his ranunculus. _Good things for the garden_. And good things for him.

Keith may not be the full fae that Shiro believes him to be, but he’s right in one thing. Keith will do all he can to keep him safe.

“You said the same fae who cursed your farms hexed you.” If Keith can find out what she did, maybe he can fix it.

That dark look clouds over Shiro’s eyes again. “She got me just before we finished our spell. Blasted magic so powerful it broke the bedroom windows. It could have easily hurt Black or Atlas.” He lets go of Keith’s hand to clench his fist and grit his teeth. Keith feels himself tensing up in sympathy.

His mind flits to fantasies of calling out the Marmora clan and asking them if they know of a fae called Haggar. He could track her down and make her pay for what she did to Shiro and his village. Stop her and the rest of her clan once and for all. The Marmora were founded to protect humans after all. Shouldn’t they be out there making sure things like this never happen to anyone?

Perhaps they’ve been holding down in this forest for too long. They may be small in numbers, but they’re faster and smarter, aren’t they? Years of lurking in the shadows has made them careful and stealthy.

“We could stop her,” he says softly. Shiro glances back from the space he’d been staring off to.

“We? Just us two?”

Keith nods, and Kosmo lets out a ‘harrumph’ as if to scold them for leaving him out of the headcount. Atlas’s purring picks up a notch.

“She’s evil, and she’s torturing that village. We can’t just let her have them.” He shifts in his seat and reaches back to draw his blade, carefully curling his hand around the wrapped grip and settling his thumb over his mother’s carved crystal. “I’ve had this iron blade ever since I was a kid. I know how to use it. Plus we have our magic – I don’t know what kind of spells you know but I could teach you mine. And Kosmo is a great hunter. _We could stop her_, Shiro.”

There’s an anxious part of him afraid that Shiro will turn him down. That the danger this dark fae put him through has made him too afraid to take her on, or that he’ll think Keith is too intense, too thirsty for blood when that’s not what’s driving him forward.

But Shiro doesn’t say anything, at least not immediately. Instead he gives Keith a very critical look that feels like it pierces through him. Keith tightens his jaw and holds Shiro’s scrutinizing gaze. He wills Shiro to see just how serious and determined he is to follow his words through.

“I want to,” Shiro says at length. Keith braces himself for the ‘but’ and starts looking for the words to counter it. “I want those monsters to pay for what they’ve done. It’s not something we can do all at once – it’ll take planning and time, and probably a healthy dose of luck. But.” He pauses, mouth open around a word that hasn’t yet left. Keith straightens, leans forward to hear what he’s going to say next because he hasn’t said no. Hasn’t made Keith fight for it the way the Marmora clan would have, the way anyone he’s known before would have.

“I trust you, Keith,” Shiro continues, voice low and soft. “If you still… If we can get through _this_ together,” he lifts his hexed arm, “then maybe… Well, I’d like to do that. If you still would.”

Keith frowns. “Of course I would, Shiro. I didn’t suggest it just to change my mind. I’m serious about this.” He’s never felt more serious about anything in his life. Nor about any_one_.

And suddenly the world feels narrow again, and Keith’s heart is loud in his chest. There’s a moment here, heavy and waiting for him to seize it. They’ve already danced around the idea once today, but now it burns in Keith’s veins, heats his blood and makes him realize that he might not find a better time to say it. That he _needs_ to say it now, before this feeling consumes him from the inside out.

How to say it does not come to him, but not having a plan hasn’t stopped Keith in the past. “S-Shiro, I. I think I’d do anything to help you. I…”

Shiro settles a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder. His eyes are soft and tender, but the anguish Keith sees underneath them is what makes him pause.

“I know, Keith,” Shiro says quietly. It’s resigned. Regretful. And that’s how Keith knows that this thing between them can’t be anything more than what it is now.

It stings sharp like a blade in the throat, but Keith swallows it down, face burning as hot as his unwavering determination. Unrequited or not, humiliated or not, he’s going to be here for Shiro. For as long as he’ll take him.

Desperate to change the subject and get Shiro to stop giving him that guilty, pitying look, Keith asks quickly, “How did she hex you?”

Shiro gives him a lingering look but takes the obvious shift without comment. “When we dropped the wards, it let her pass freely into our garden while we focused our energy into the ritual. Just before it went off, she shot her magic in through the window. But she wasn’t aiming for me.”

Black chirrups then and nuzzles up against Shiro’s face. Her eyes are big and guilty. Keith watches Shiro lift a hand to scritch her under the chin and coo soft, soothing words to her.

“Why would she try to hurt Black?” Keith asks.

Shiro clicks his tongue. “I think she wanted to try and take control of her somehow, since she lost the chance with me.” He shifts his wrapped arm and Keith shifts back a bit, bracing himself. But Shiro keeps it wrapped for the moment. “This is a Komar Hex. I had to dig through all of my books before I could even find it. But what I found said it…” The air takes on a sudden heavy tone that makes Keith’s stomach flood with dread, and he can guess the words Shiro’s about to say. Shiro clears his throat and drops his good hand to grip around his upper arm tightly. “It consumes its host, corrupting further and further until it takes them over completely.”

Ever so softly Keith asks, “How long? Before…”

Shiro shrugs. “It’s been maybe two months now and it’s already this high. It started in my fingers – I saw her, just when we were finishing our spell, and I only had a split second to block her from hitting Black. I didn’t think anything through, just reached out and caught the spell in the palm of my hand. And then we were here.”

He shifts the fabric around his arm and reveals the intricate magic pressed under his skin like a tattoo. The dark energy radiates off it as soon as it’s exposed and makes Keith’s eyes water. Holding his breath against it he slowly reaches out and presses a finger against the thorny lines.

Shiro has always felt inexplicably warm to the touch, but these lines of poisonous magic are ice cold and almost lifeless.

“Can you feel this?” Keith murmurs through clenched teeth. Shiro nods.

“Mostly.”

Keith traces the curve of the thorny tendril pattern as softly as he can. The strands of dark magic loop and curl their way around Shiro’s upper arm like ivy inching up a brick wall, and every few centimeters another thorn branches off the thin winding line. The pattern reminds him of the thickets in the western part of the forest, where he has to tread carefully if he doesn’t want to be scratched up to all hell. One misstep into the tangle of those plants and you’d be completely ensnared. The only way out of them is to rip backwards and accept the hundreds of little slices in your leg that come with.

The twist of spiderwebs weaving together each thorny tendril only adds to the ensnaring imagery. He hates to say it, but it’s an expertly crafted spell.

Just around the underside of Shiro’s arm, Keith notices another shape in the design. He shifts forward, half leaning across Shiro’s lap as he pulls gently at the skin to get a better look. Caught in the webbing between one spiny tendril and the next is a pair of little five pronged stars, though each point is rounded and seems to be curling into itself, almost like the star is wilting.

“Any idea what this is?” Keith mumbles. Shiro leans closer to inspect the star, which now that he shifts it seems to be more so a flower, actually. One of those itty bitty flowers that grow in bunches, like hyacinth and yarrow.

“That’s jasmine,” Shiro says as soon as he gets a good look at the little flower. Now that he says it, Keith’s faded flower knowledge kicks in to confirm. “It’s used in spells to bind things – especially people.”

Keith traces over the wilting petals under Shiro’s skin and tries to remember if he saw flowers like these in the garden. “A lot of magic has a counterpart,” he says. “There are glamours and spells to see through them, charms and defenses against them. Hexes are harder to break by nature – that’s sort of the point of them. But, if we could figure out what she did, we might be able to break it.”

The thorns in the magic design make him nervous that Haggar’s hex has some kind of countermeasure already in place against hex breaking, the same way that a thicket becomes a snare trap that scars those who pull out of it. Keith doesn’t have a lot of experience with hexes. He knows the idea of them because the Marmora clan explained all kinds of magic to him when his own magic was still developing as a child. But he’s never seen one first hand, and he’s never needed to break one. For all he knows, this hex could take Shiro’s arm with it when they try to pull the two apart.

“You would really want to help me?” Shiro asks softly. Keith blinks and looks up at him to see that guilty look has come back to him. Like he thinks he’s taking advantage of Keith, now that they’ve opened the air about these feelings.

Keith frowns and crosses his arms. “Shiro. You came to _my_ forest. You invited me into your garden and gave me tea every day. We’ve spent the last two months together. Of course I want to help you.”

And maybe that sounds a bit like the equal exchange that governs full fae, but aren’t friendships supposed to work the same way? Aren’t all relationships a balance of give and take?

It doesn’t matter whether Shiro loves him back or not. Keith isn’t going to stand aside and let him be taken away by dark magic.

Shiro stares at him, looking a little lost and disarmed. He breathes Keith’s name out softly in awe and it makes Keith prickle warm all over, flustered and proud at once to have proven his conviction. In a way, he’s confirmed to both of them how important this bond between them is. How much Shiro has become a keystone of Keith’s life. Something about that is freeing despite the situation they’re in.

When Shiro closes his mouth and nods once, it’s with the same conviction that Keith’s shown him. “Okay. We’ll do this. But, there’s something… there are things you should know, before we start. I don’t want you to agree to something without knowing what you’re signing up for.”

He covers his arm, and at last Keith feels like he can breathe properly again. He’s going to have to find something to cover his face when they work on countering Haggar’s magic, because being so close to even just a sliver of it has already started to make him feel nauseous.

He watches Shiro rise up from the couch and move around the coffee table to dig a couple of his thick books out of the pile. Each one thuds heavily on the table as he sets it aside, and it makes Keith pause and wonder just how many spells Shiro has learned over the years. How much magic do the humans of other villages know about? As far as Keith knows, the villagers south of the forest live in fear of all manners of magic and supernatural beings. His parents made it sound like that was the norm among humankind.

Of course, his father and now Shiro are living contradictions to that. It’s just that before now, Keith hadn’t given the world beyond his little forest much thought. And suddenly it seems a shame that that’s how his life has always been.

“This is where I found the hex,” Shiro says, drawing out a book that looks much worse for wear than the rest in his collection. Keith recognizes the yellowed pages from the day he spotted Shiro reading through the window before he shuffled all his books out of Keith’s sight. The book smells of mildew and some spice Keith can’t name as Shiro opens it up across the table and starts flipping through. The ink is faded in many places, and some of the diagrams Keith sees flip by almost look half finished.

“Does it say how to undo it?” he wonders. Shiro shakes his head and stops on a mostly legible page. The ritual circle drawn in the bottom left is drawn in thick, bold ink, with sinister sharp curves webbed all across it. Keith wouldn’t have thought it possible for a geometric drawing to feel threatening, but something about the shape of it makes his heart pound in his throat.

“This book goes into how to cast it, actually,” Shiro says quietly. He points to a line in the directions that describes the best blade to use when drawing blood for the spell. A few lines below that there’s a mention of the heart of a betrayed lover and recommends the corpses of young maidens as the best source.

“That’s sick,” Keith breathes.

“Yeah. It really makes my skin crawl.”

They both pause. Keith looks over to Shiro, not quite sure if he meant for that to sound like a pun, until he sees the hollow, bitter humor quirking his mouth.

“That’s not funny,” he says.

Shiro winces and rubs the back of his neck. “I know. It’s just. A coping mechanism, I guess.”

“Let’s just focus on getting you free.”

Shiro nods and runs his finger over the directions, tapping here and there at the different components the hex requires. “I figured if I could reverse engineer this, I could break it. I’ve been studying it over for weeks to try and figure out how it all goes together and why each piece is needed so I can find the exact opposite components. But one of the key things is I’d need someone else’s blood, and a helping hand. And after these past two months I don’t think…”

Keith steadily meets his eyes. He’s not going to let Shiro tell him not to do this. He channels his determination into his gaze and wills Shiro to understand that Keith meant what he said. That he won’t abandon him.

“I don’t think anyone else can save me,” Shiro says quietly, like it’s an apology. “It has to be you, Keith.”

The way those words make Keith’s heart ache in his chest just isn’t fair.

He swallows hard and tells himself it’s because Shiro thinks he’s a fae. Because he _is_ a fae, at least half-fae. That’s why Shiro has the ranunculus outside, that’s why Shiro looks so guilty as he says it. Maybe he set out to find any old fae to help him, and now that they’re friends he feels guilty for looking at Keith as something to use when they first met.

It isn’t because of the kinship that’s grown between them, Keith tells himself, or the fire Shiro’s lit in Keith’s chest. The loyalty and devotion and protectiveness he feels for this man who limped his way into his forest and built himself a last stand stronghold out of willpower alone runs deeper than any star-crossed chance at something other than an intimate friendship.

Because in the end, it doesn’t matter why Shiro needs him. All that matters is he does.

“So what do we need to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler-y trigger note: So in this chapter we touch on something analogous to Shiro's year as a Galra prisoner. Shiro recounts the story to Keith and mentions that he was captured and magically experimented on by Haggar. All he does is state what he went through -- he never goes into detail nor describes specific moments -- but he does mention having mind altering magic used on him, as well as a non-consensual blood ritual. If you need to skip this bit, it starts with "She told me." and ends with "That was the night you came here, then."
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, and for putting up with my bizarre update times! I'll probably have the next chapter out within an hour or two, but if I decide to go to bed like a normal person, I'll get it up tomorrow evening (EST) instead. 
> 
> You can also check my twitter [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin) for updates, as I often announce there if I'm having a delay or anything like that.


	4. Lover, (un)binding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at last we have the final chapter!
> 
> Thank you all so much for following this story to the end, and an especially big thank you to Ashley and the Sheith Flower Exchange. I never would have written a fic like this without your prompting, and this was so so so much fun to create and explore. Even if it wound up far longer than anticipated and much later than expected, I still love it very much. 
> 
> This chapter does have a little bit more of a warning to go with: there is a consensual ritual involving a little blood at the end of the chapter. Both the drawing of the blood and the blood itself are (briefly) described. If you need to skip, that part begins at "Then he reaches into the bowl again," and ends at "There's only one thing fitting enough".
> 
> Without further ado, here is the final chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!~

Shiro walks Keith through all the details of the Komar Hex, or at least as many as they can make out of the faded text. The dark ritual includes a whole manor of unsavory components, some more specific than others. They know the ritual symbol is made from ash, but what is supposed to be burned to create the ash is unclear. In contrast, the heart of the betrayed maiden is so specific in its description that Keith feels a bit nauseous reading over that segment of the text. When it comes to human magic and ritual spells like this, the more thematic the components the more effective the spell will become, and it seems as though the hex combines every dark and sinister aspect of the natural world to create a vicious and unforgiving magic. Hunger, hatred, disease, rot, and even literal darkness all play a major role in the ritual, which utilizes the energy of the new moon to amplify its wicked power.

This in turn means that Shiro and Keith’s counter spell must combine the purest elements of nature possible, and be done by the light of the full moon.

“This month’s full moon is in Leo,” Shiro says. Keith wonders if he knows the star charts by heart, or if he’d been planning on doing this ritual this month. “I honestly can’t think of a better moon to do it under.”

“How come?”

“Leo is the sign of authority. Of owning yourself. We’re trying to break a curse that is meant to take over its host and destroy their – _my_ – autonomy and free will. I don’t think there’s any other time we could do this.”

Keith nods. “Alright. So when is that? When should we do this?”

“Three nights from now,” Shiro says. He makes a sheepish face then. “I’ve been planning, actually. Atlas and I have been gathering herbs in the garden. I just, hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask you yet. Wasn’t sure you’d want to help.”

“Well I do, and I’m with you to the end of the line here.” Keith smiles, just a little, and it softens all the tension in Shiro’s face.

“Thank you, Keith. I can’t tell you how grateful I am we turned up in your forest.”

Heat floods across Keith’s face. He ducks his head and tries to hide his smile, but it stretches out of his control and burns as hot as his blush.

“Me too,” he manages, voice soft. The brush of Shiro’s hand against his makes him feel lightheaded.

The embarrassed quiet that follows is just a little bit awkward, but it’s still good. Shiro’s hand is warm against his, and the trust he’s placing in Keith by letting him help makes Keith’s heart soar in ways it almost never has before. He’s proud of himself for being able to help his friend, and eager to give this ritual his all. Shiro feels like the first constant that’s come into Keith’s life since Kosmo, and there’s a part of him that wants so badly to anchor itself to that.

“How about,” Keith manages once he’s reigned himself back in, “we have some tea, like usual, and you can show me what you two have gathered.”

Shiro stiffens where he sits. It’s subtle, but it’s enough of a change to catch Keith’s eye and make him wonder if he’s said something wrong.

“Ah, actually, I uh. Well, with all the herbs we gathered and everything, there’s not really room for the kettle right now. Sorry.”

Keith frowns, and Shiro turns quickly to look over at Kosmo instead, stroking over his ears and speaking lowly as though he just realized the cu sith were here. Keith runs back over what he said to try and find his mistake, but as far as he can tell there isn’t anything that should suddenly make Shiro so awkward.

Maybe it was the affectionate moment? And Shiro’s embarrassed now? The idea of Shiro, who’s always come off as confident, being flustered is a little hard to wrap his head around, but in a way it is cute. Maybe he just needs some space to himself, with room to think over everything that’s happened today.

Looking outside, the rain has mostly died down by now, though the clouds still hang heavy in the sky. This might be the best time for Keith and Kosmo to head back home to avoid getting any more soaked through. Now that he’s thinking about it, Keith’s clothes are starting to feel uncomfortable in the way that they cling to him.

“We should start heading back,” he says, both to Shiro and to Kosmo. Kosmo cocks his head to the side, and Keith could almost swear he’s pouting.

Shiro nods. “Yeah, I guess so. Better go now while you still can. If it’s nicer tomorrow, we can go through the garden and see if we can find anything else we want to use for the spell.”

Keith smiles. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They do browse the garden the next day and gather a few more armfuls of flowers to be reviewed by Atlas.

“She has a keen nose for spell components,” Shiro tells him. “She’s never steered me wrong before.” 

He still refuses to make tea the next day, and the day after that, claiming that he really can’t make room and then eventually sighing and confessing that he actually ran out of tea and has been anxious to disappoint Keith. Keith laughs it off – as nice as the pomegranate tea tasted, it’s always been Shiro that’s had him coming back. That comment gets a blush out of Shiro that makes Keith’s heart flutter in his chest, and for half a beat he wonders if maybe there could be more between them after all.

It’s a dangerous slope to tread along, though, so he pulls himself back.

The day of the full moon comes to them quickly.

For the first time in two months, Keith stays at Shiro’s cottage for the entire day. There is a nervous energy about them – how could there not be, with the impending ritual looming over their heads? – but Keith can’t help feeling a little bit of excitement as well. He hasn’t seen magic on this scale in years, and he’s very interested to see Shiro at work.

Fae magic is quite different from human magic. For fae and half-fae like Keith, the energy comes naturally. It is within them, and with just a little bit of focus can be drawn out and directed. The languages of the fae are inherently channels for that magic, and with only a few words of Galran or Altean a fae can alter their appearance or summon something into existence. Sometimes the magic even comes unbidden, slipping out when the fae comes into contact with other natural magic.

Humans on the other hand harness the magic of the world around them. Witches have a spark of magic energy inside themselves that allows them to control and utilize their aura with enough practice, but it’s the rituals and willpower that makes human magic so impressive. They open the doors to the universe and invite change where it is needed, and the universe answers their call.

They plan to share dinner just around sunset that evening. Shiro hands off plates to Keith so he can set the outdoor table in the garden while Kosmo and Black chase one another down the rows between flowers and bushes blooming bright in the crisp mid-autumn air. The forest has started to turn in shades of orange and brown, but every leaf in Shiro’s garden is a vibrant healthy green. It’s like their own personal little pocket of summer, tucked away in this hidden corner of the woods. Standing outside by the table and looking around, Keith feels invincible here.

The gentle breeze carries over the enchanting ranunculus fragrance, drawing Keith the way it always does. He takes a look at the table, twin plates set across from one another, silverware and cups waiting at the sides, and a slender, empty vase resting in the center. Shiro did offer him a flower from the garden, back when they first met, and Keith still has yet to take him up on that…

He steps around the side of the cottage to where Shiro keeps his gardening tools and picks up a small set of cutting tools. Then he follows the siren call of the flowers that first drew him here. If he thought they looked beautiful sparkling in the midday sunlight, they are nothing short of radiant in the warm glow of sunset. He traces them, tender and sweet, lets them draw his natural magic down through his fingertips and leave its sparkling trail around the edges of the petals. Slowly, reverently, he cups two blooms and snips their stems. Cradling his quarries, he steps back to the table in time to catch Shiro as he brings out their meal.

“I see you finally took me up on that,” Shiro comments as Keith slips the pair of stems into the vase. They sink in so deep that just their fluffy heads peek out, one facing each plate.

“It felt… fitting,” Keith says.

“Thematic,” Shiro agrees softly.

Keith runs his index finger along the underside of each flower, still captivating even after they’ve been trimmed. They’re quiet for the longest moment, as the sun sinks deeper into the earth and the night inches in overhead to take a peek at this tender little scene. There is a heavy meaning in this moment. It weighs in Keith’s chest, aligning pieces and drawing them forward to harmonize with the space between him and Shiro.

Then Shiro reaches forward, the fingers of his left hand shimmering with his own soft purple aura as they trace along the petals still alight with Keith’s magic. Just as he finishes his slow sweep around his finger brushes Keith’s palm and sends sparks flying, arcing up between them. Keith’s aura ignites instantly, flooding him with warmth and sending a sweetness through his veins that swells like pure bliss throughout his chest.

The little burst of glimmering light condenses around the flowers, leaving them glowing like a jar of fireflies.

Keith looks at Shiro and sees his aura has spread wide, surrounding him in a stunning halo of ethereal violet light. It leaves Keith breathless, the way he shines in the last rays of the setting sun. An aurora in his own right.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro breathes, eyes wide and awed.

Keith can’t understand how a man who looks like a thousand nebulas can be saying those words to _him_. The way Shiro’s looking at him, like he’s never seen anything so stunning, makes Keith’s heart ache.

“What did we do?” he asks softly, helplessly.

Shiro takes a step closer and reaches out to take Keith’s hand. “A spell,” he says, and sends that burst of sparks straight through Keith when they touch again. “It seemed like the perfect setting – the flowers, the way we met. This ritual we have planned. I thought it would make an effective luck spell, but I didn’t expect…”

He draws Keith’s hand forward, still staring at him with this soft, tender awe, and suddenly Keith sees why. His aura, which has always been thin and best, is flickering around him like a fire, burning bright all around his skin. It makes Keith take pause and stare, almost unable to believe that’s _him_.

And where their hands are clasped around one another burns brightest. A swirl of red and purple magic and twists and pulses like a living, breathing force. It is _alive_ and powerful. Captivating.

“This is…” Keith breathes.

“Love,” Shiro finishes.

Keith jumps.

“Shiro, I…”

“No. No I should…”

Shiro shakes his head and lets go of Keith’s hand. He steps away, a hesitant step at first that turns into something quicker, more anxious. Keith’s stomach drops out.

He starts to panic and pleads, anxiously, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no it’s not you it’s—Keith, I. I need to be honest with you.”

That guilty look is back on Shiro’s face, and Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but something is horribly wrong.

“Keith,” Shiro says gently, almost tenderly. Keith swallows and stares at him with wide eyes. “You don’t love me.”

“I—What?” Is he trying to talk him out of it? Has Keith made him uncomfortable? But Shiro’s the one who made it seem like he was interested – Shiro is the one who’s been giving him these tender looks and touching him so softly today, and Keith hasn’t made any advances since that thunderstorm, hasn’t done anything to stretch the boundary Shiro put up. “What are you saying?”

Shiro ducks his head, then peers back up with anxious, pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry – it was before we met. I cast a spell, and I made a potion.”

That. Doesn’t make sense.

Keith frowns and crosses his arms across his chest to try and feel a little more guarded, a little less vulnerable. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It was a love potion, Keith.” Shiro sounds pained as he says it. “I’ve – I cast a spell, our first night here, to draw in someone who would fall in love with me. Someone who could help me break this hex. And then you showed up the next morning, and I just… I was desperate.”

Keith shakes his head. He can’t wrap his mind around whatever it is that’s got Shiro so serious – so what if Shiro drew him in? Keith already figured that from the ranunculus flowers.

“I don’t get it. It’s not like you _made_ me love you. Any fae could have been pulled in by your spell, couldn’t they?”

“Fae?”

Shiro’s eyes narrow, confusion knitting his brow. When Keith just stares back at him, not sure what he’s said now to make Shiro confused, Shiro blinks a few times. Then his eyes start to widen, his jaw slowly opening wider and wider.

“Wait. _Fae_?”

Keith frowns and cocks a brow.

“Uh. Yeah?” Didn’t he know? Wasn’t that the point of all this? “You planted ranunculus to draw a fae in – you basically said that to me when we first met.”

Shiro keeps staring at him as though he said he could grow extra limbs.

“You mean… you’re saying that _you’re_ a _fae_?” Shiro asks, dropping his voice at the end like they’re trading damning secrets.

It’s a struggle for Keith to find a way to answer that. “I’m half, actually. I… thought you knew? You seemed like you knew.”

“No, I didn’t know!” Shiro throws out his hands. He doesn’t seem angry exactly, more so baffled. Shocked maybe. “How could I have— you never— You didn’t react when you saw my arm, even though it’s packed with fae magic. I thought for sure another fae would have noticed that.”

“I mean, I did _notice_,” Keith says, but Shiro shakes his head.

“All this time – I just thought you were a witch like me. You have a familiar, even.”

Keith glances over to where Kosmo and Black are still playing, blissfully ignorant to the confused chaos unfolding over here. “He’s not my familiar, I don’t think. I mean, maybe? He’s a cu sith.” Shiro looks like he’s choking on his own tongue, and Keith rushes to add, “I mean, we’ve had him since he was a pup! And he’s still a pup. He’s not evil. He won’t steal women in the night or anything. That’s just, myths because of bad fae that used to use them.” The kind of fae that probably live out by Shiro’s village.

“Is he glamoured?” Shiro wheezes. Keith nods. “I never noticed. Black never told me.”

“Does she know?”

“She’s usually good about telling.” He sighs and looks over at the two of them. “I guess that explains why she likes him so much, though…”

Despite his shock, it seems like most of the tension has eased back out of Shiro. Tentatively, Keith pushes for an answer to his original question. “If you weren’t trying to get a fae, then why did you need me? What was your spell supposed to do?”

Shiro wilts a little and rubs at the back of his neck. “It was to attract love. To bring me someone who could love me. The original Komar Hex uses so much hate that only true love could possibly break it. That’s why I made a love potion. I’ve… I’ve been putting it in your tea, every day.”

The look on Keith’s face must be devastating, because Shiro crumples into himself and throws his hands out.

“But these potions, they only work on mortals. There, there is one for fae, and other supernatural creatures, but it’s drastically different. The one I was using – and I stopped, recently. I. I realized how much you felt for me and I just. I couldn’t.”

It would be a lie to say Keith isn’t angry. That he doesn’t feel a little manipulated, or at least a little lied to. All this time they’d been spending hours together and sharing some of the best days Keith’s had in a years, and Shiro’s had this ulterior plan lurking in the back of his mind.

But if Shiro didn’t make that potion for fae, he’s right that it wouldn’t affect Keith. Even as a half-fae, it would take something much stronger to sway him. Keith’s love is real, and no matter how angry he might be, it doesn’t change the fact that he wants to help Shiro.

“You were desperate,” he says slowly.

“That’s not an excuse,” Shiro says. Keith nods because he’s right, and he’s grateful at least that Shiro can own up to that. “I lied to you, and even if I know now I wasn’t manipulating you, I still was trying to. That’s not okay.”

“You said you stopped?” Keith asks.

“After I realized how much it was effecting you – how much I _thought _it was effecting you – how much you… You care about me. I realized that nothing was worth doing that to you.”

“That’s not true.” Keith frowns.

Shiro frowns back. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”

“I’m not happy about being lied to, but. You did it to save your _life_, Shiro. I’d say that’s worth it.”

“Not if it means losing your trust.”

Gods damn Keith, but he can’t truly stay mad when Shiro’s words make his heart ache so deeply.

Slowly he steps forward and reaches out for Shiro. They’re both still glowing, even brighter now that the night’s darkness has fully taken over. Keith reaches up and settles a soft hand on Shiro’s face. It sparks the same rush of energy through the both of them, with a pulse of bright magic radiating from the places where they touch.

“Let me help you, Shiro,” he says gently. Shiro leans into his touch, and for once he seems small. Fragile in Keith’s grasp. “You know now that it’s all me. That I really meant what I said. We’re going to get you out of this. And then, if you want, we can track her down after and make sure she never hurts anyone ever again.”

Shiro takes Keith’s hand in his and turns his face against it. His gaze is still guilty, tender, and so raw it cuts Keith to his core.

“I think I love you,” Shiro rasps.

That’s all it takes to make Keith’s eyes sting.

He ducks his head and leans in to Shiro’s space. Shiro is still so, so warm. Relief shudders through Keith’s veins, his nerves singing in sweet satisfaction from those tender words, spoken so raw and real in the quiet of the night. It’s more than Keith would have ever asked for, and somehow everything he needs in this moment. It’s too much, too good a thing for him to be able to trust. But the way it sinks into his skin feels so right.

“I’ll always be here,” he mumbles against Shiro’s chest. “As long as you want me, I’ll be here.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m always going to want you, Keith,” Shiro whispers, wrapping an arm around him and pressing him close.

Keith laughs, feeling both giddy and overwhelmed, because gods does he want it to be true. The stinging in his eyes breaks over into a few small tears and he pulls back just far enough to wipe them away.

“Good,” he says with a grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Shiro presses their foreheads together and stares deeply into Keith’s eyes. “I’m sorry this was such a mess,” he says softly. And intuitively, Keith can tell that Shiro really means all of it. That he loves Keith, that he wants him.

Forgiveness comes easier than Keith ever would have imagined, but he finds he’s alright with that.

“Life’s a mess,” he laughs. “It’s fine.”

“I’d like to kiss you. If that can be allowed.”

“Please.”

Shiro was always warm before, but nothing compares to the rush of heat that washes over Keith like a tsunami wave when they press their lips together. The burst of magic between them is sweeter than any flower in the garden, and their kiss sends skittering explosions of energy all across their aura, bursting like firecrackers in the night sky. Every atom of Keith’s being hums in harmony with Shiro’s, and for the full span of the kiss, the world feels like every planet in the sky has aligned just for them.

When they slowly pull back, each of their auras has taken on a second shade. The energy around them both flickers in beautiful synchronization.

“I think we should do the spell now,” Shiro says softly. Keith nods.

“We can’t get any more harmonized than this.”

They step back but hold hands to stay connected as Shiro leads Keith in to where he’s gathered everything they’ll need for the spell. Bundles of herbs are lain out neat and orderly on the counter for them to gather up and bring outside, where Shiro has already cleared a large area for the ritual circle and place a shimmering rose quartz bowl at the very center.

Keith draws his blade and settles it neatly across the bowl.

Shiro takes them back to the table and grabs the glowing vase of ranunculus flowers.

“I think we’ll need these,” he says. Keith nods.

They begin by each taking a handful of salt and laying it out in the shape of the ritual symbol. Shiro guides Keith around the circle thrice, each focusing on the positive energy between them and their intent to block out any dark forces. By the third pass, the salt circle shimmers with the faintest hints of purple and red, and they know they’re past the point of no return.

Taking in a slow, deep breath, standing in the center of the circle, Shiro begins.

“By the stars of Leo, in the full moon’s light, we draw upon the universe’s magic this night.”

He gives Keith a nod as warning before tugging off his glove and drawing up his sleeve. Keith staggers back against the brunt of energy that whips suddenly out into the air when the hex is brought free from its protective sheath. It chokes him for a moment and he sputters, clinging to Shiro’s other arm and covering his mouth. Shiro grips him tightly, staring down with anxious eyes, but Keith shakes his head.

“Stay positive,” he grits out. “No negative energy.”

Shiro gives him another squeeze and nods, while Keith draws up the hem of his shirt to cover his face. He doesn’t know the spell Shiro uses on his own clothes to block the hex’s energy, but even with just a thin layer of fabric between them it feels much easier to breathe.

He locks eyes with Shiro and nods firmly, ready to continue. Together they crouch down and lift the bowl as one, careful not to drop the knife or spill out the herbs inside. Shiro guides Keith to tilt the bowl and catch the moon’s light on the blade so that it reflects across the flowers.

“By the lion’s moon, shining bright, we douse these herbs in her white light,” Shiro says slowly, deeply. His and Keith’s auras spread out from their fingertips and encircle the bowl, which begins to glow with the soft silver light of the moon.

Keith reaches one hand into the bowl and traces over all the petals, then around the rim. “Give them strength to join our fight—” he says as he goes. Then he follows the lip of the bowl back and traces his hand up Shiro’s cursed arm, trying not to shiver at the icy chill of that dark magic. “—against this hex and put things right.”

He draws his hand back down Shiro’s arm and envisions the black of the hex peeling up and away, disintegrating into nothing under Keith’s soft touch.

Then he reaches into the bowl again, and locks eyes with Shiro. They each take a deep breath and calm themselves as much as possible, then lower down the bowl, settling it in the very center of the circle, with the full moon directly overhead.

Keith carefully takes the knife in his left hand, taking Shiro’s hexed arm in his right.

“Ready?” Keith asks quietly.

Shiro squeezes his hand back and smiles, though his eyes are hard. “Whenever you are.”

“Okay.” Keith takes a deep breath, then lets go of Shiro’s hand and presses the blade into the palm of his right hand in its stead. The iron _burns_, like pressing thorns into an open wound, but Keith bites his cheek and powers through.

“Blood of the covenant,” – he squeezes hard enough to drip blood into the bowl below, then releases. Shiro offers his hexed palm to do the same – “drawn by iron blade –”

When the flowers have been stained by both their blood, they press their cut palms together. Keith drags his hand up the inside of Shiro’s hexed arm, wincing, and Shiro does the same to him, so that both of them stop at the crook of the elbow. Holding there, they stoop to the bowl and draw out a garland of red stained jasmine buds.

Together they work the strands around their arms, tying them together as they finish in unison, “—shall bind us together under jasmine braid.”

Once it’s in place, the jasmine garland glows bright with the white light of the moon. Shiro and Keith use their free hands to trace across the buds on the other’s arm and ignite them with their own aura so that the purple and red magic swirls in a bright spiral around the place where they are joined together by this pact.

Shiro continues the incant as they go. “With each heart’s magic given in trade, an exchange of power is hereby made.”

Keith picks it up there. “Our love is a bright love, is a love that binds. Our healing love on this night unwinds—” As he speaks, the garland grows warm beneath their touch, so warm it seems to sink into the skin and press deeper, through the muscles and down to the bone. Keith hesitates, surprised at the sensation and surprised at how pleasant it feels, when it seems like something that ought to be alarming.

Shiro finishes the line for him before the magic can sputter away from them, “—the trappings of hate, the plague of ill will.”

Next in the bowl are the twin ranunculus, still alight with their auras from the luck spell that began this all and speckled with their life’s essence. Keith lifts them both up and thinks hard about all they’ve read, about the description he found of the buttercups in one of Shiro’s books that afternoon. The one line that sticks with him most is the line about their use in intimate and binding rituals, and their association with serious commitments.

There’s only one thing fitting enough to say after he presses each bud to his lips and mutters a tender Galran affection, tugging his shirt down long enough to do so. Keith looks Shiro in the eyes and wills him to hear the weight of every word that drips from his tongue.

“And by the lions light,” – he draws both buds across their bound arms – “on this night so still, I swear I will love you until all flowers wilt, all forests are burned. You are the man for whom my heart has yearned.”

He tucks the twin buds in the space between their arms and reaches for one of the chrysanthemums left in the bowl. Shiro stares at him with glossy eyes and moves to take the other as well.

Keith presses his bud firmly against the upper line of Shiro’s hex-scarred arm. “So long as I love you,” he swears, “you will be free.”

A few tears dribble past the edges of Shiro’s eyes as he sighs, looking at Keith like he put the stars in the sky and the leaves on the trees. Like he is everything Shiro can fathom; the only thing in his universe worth seeing.

Shiro presses his mum to the same place on Keith’s arm. “May you always stay close to me.”

As the flowers burst into light and press so deep against their skin they dissolve beneath the surface, Keith and Shiro speak in unison.

“I swear.” 

There’s a radiant burst of light, brighter than the moon, and an invigorating heat envelops them both. Keith has to throw up his free hand to shield his eyes against the blinding burst. As it fades back down, the heat remains, pulsing warm just beneath his skin.

“_Keith_,” Shiro gasps softly. Keith drops his arm.

The dark stain of evil magic has gone from Shiro’s skin, erased from existence with no trace of having ever been there. Keith tugs his shirt off his face in a distracted motion and notes in the back of his mind that the oppressive energy has dissipated as well, and the burning sting of his cut is no more.

More fascinating, however, is the soft silver glow across each of their arms. The flowers have all vanished, as if burnt up by the energy of their spell, but in the spaces where their magic was pressed, silver inked lines and petal shapes are etched into their skin. Sleek silver tendrils are drawn all up and down Shiro and Keith’s arms, dotted with little images of jasmine buds burst open in their full star shaped glory. At the very top of the spiraling floral design, a lifelike impression of a silver mum blooms in the crook of Shiro’s elbow, and when Keith looks down at his own arm he finds the same.

But most dazzling are the ranunculus buds they share between them. Slowly, Shiro releases Keith’s arm, rolling his own to take a better look, and they see that while the jasmine buds spiral all around their arms even in places where their skin had been touching, the ranunculus are cut in half. Each half a buttercup on Shiro’s arm matches up perfectly to the half on Keith’s. And as they realign the petals, the flowers begin to glow with aura – red beneath Shiro’s skin, and purple beneath Keith’s.

“We’re bonded,” Shiro breathes. He lifts his head to meet Keith’s eyes, looking both awed and giddy as the realization begins to sink in. “We’re bonded, permanently. Our auras are mixed.”

“Then you’ll always have my strength,” Keith vows.

Shiro reaches forward and pulls him in for the tightest hug Keith has ever experienced.

“And you mine. Always, Keith. I love you. _Thank you_.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Keith sighs and tucks his head into the crook of Shiro’s neck.

“I’m glad to have you by my side.” Shiro shifts, turning to cup Keith’s face in both his hands. “I don’t know if this is forward or not, after everything we’ve been through tonight, and everything we’ve shared the past few months, but. I’d be honored to have you by my side from here on out. We can stay here, or travel the world. Find wicked fae and fend them off, or teach villages about magic and that they don’t have to fear it. Anything you want, I’d be happy with, so long as it meant I’d have you by my side.”

Keith thinks of his parents, of the life they gave him in this forest and the things they taught him. Of the village to the south that the Marmora clan protects, and the Marmora fae that inhabit the forest. He thinks of Kosmo and his love of exploration, and the world beyond their trees, and all the things he hasn’t yet experienced, all the places he’s never seen. The people they could help, and evil they could undo. The magic left to learn and share.

And he thinks of Shiro, and how warm he is, even now. Of the way Keith can feel him in his own skin, a warm and tender reminder lingering in the piece of Shiro’s aura now bound to him.

He runs a hand across the half flower marks engraved in Shiro’s skin and smiles, wide and soft.

“You already have my answer right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'd like to thank you all for reading, and especially thank Ashley for the lovely prompt. I hope this piece has been everything you'd hoped. 
> 
> Shiro and Keith absolutely go on to become a dark fae hunting power couple, and probably meet up with a coven of fae and human witches calling themselves Voltron out nearer to Shiro's village. Together they take down Haggar, Lotor, and Zarkon, the fae king of Shiro's forest, and everyone lives happily ever after.   
(But see if I wrote all that, this fic would never have gotten finished lmao Please use your imagination instead :P )
> 
> You can always come talk more ideas for this au with me on twitter [@maplmoosemuffin](https://twitter.com/maplmoosemuffin). I had so much fun creating it and I'd be more than happy to chat with you. 
> 
> Now to go celebrate with a cup of pomegranate tea.   
Take care my friends!


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